THE  NOVELS  OF 

OLIVER  ONIONS 


IN  ACCORDANCE  WfflTHE  EVIDENCE 
THE  DEBIT  ACCOUNT 
THE  STORY  OF  LOUIE 


.'II  I 

111 


mi!   i 


Mill 


THE  STORY  OF  LOUIE 


THE  STORY 
OF    LOUIE 

BY  OLIVER  ONIONS 


NEW  YORK 

GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 

MCMXIV 


TWO  PREVIOUS  NOVELS 
BY    OLIVER    ONIONS: 

IN  ACCORDANCE  WITH  THE  EVIDENCE 
THE  DEBIT  ACCOUNT 


L  i 


TO 

GWLADYS 


2137561 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

PROLOGUE  9 

PART  ONE 

RAINHAM  PARVA  21 

PART  TWO 

SUTHERLAND  PLACE  99 

PART  THREE 

MORTLAKE  ROAD  161 

PART  FOUR 

PILLAR  TO  POST  197 

PART  FIVE 

THE  CONSOLIDATION  239 

ENVOI  332 


PROLOGUE 


IN  an  old  number  of  Punch,  under  the  heading  "  Society's 
New  Pet :  The  Artists'  Model,"  is  to  be  found  a  drawing 
by  Du  Maurier,  of  which  the  descriptive  text  runs  : 

"  And  how  did  you  and  Mr  Sopley  come  to  quarrel,  dear 
Miss  Dragon  ?  " 

"  Well,  your  Grace,  it  was  like  this  :  I  was  sitting  to  him 
in  a  cestus  for  '  The  Judgment  of  Paris,'  when  someone 
called  as  wished  to  see  him  most  particular ;  so  he  said : 
*  Don't  you  move,  Miss  Dragon,  or  you'll  disturb  the  cestus.' 
'  Very  good,  sir,'  I  said,  and  off  he  went ;  and  when  he  come 
back  in  an  hour  and  a  'alf  or  so  he  said  :  '  You've  moved, 
Miss  Dragon  ! '  'I  'aven't ! '  I  said.  '  You  'awe  ! '  he  said. 
'  I  'AVEN'T  ! '  I  said — and  no  more  I  'adn't,  your  Grace. 
And  with  that  I  off  with  his  cestus  an'  wished  him  good- 
morning,  an'  I  never  been  near  him  since  !  " 

Du  Maurier  may  or  may  not  have  been  wrong  about  the 
newness  of  this  craze  of  "  Society's."  If  he  was  right,  the 
Honourable  Emily  Scarisbrick  becomes  at  once  a  pioneer. 
Let  there  be  set  down,  here  in  the  beginning,  the  plain  facts 
of  how,  a  good  ten  years  before  the  indignant  Miss  Dragon 
"  offed  with  "  Mr  Sopley's  cestus,  the  Honourable  Emily 
found  a  way  to  bridge  the  gulf  that  lies  between  Bohemia 
and  Mayfair. 

Except  in  the  case  of  one  person  not  yet  born  into  these 

9 


10  THE    STORY   OF  LOUIE 

pages,  the  report  that  the  lady  had  engaged  herself,  early 
in  the  year  1869,  to  "Mr  Buckley,  her  drawing-master," 
had  only  a  short  currency.  It  was  probably  devised  by  the 
Honourable  Emily  herself  in  order  to  soften  the  blow  for 
her  brother,  Lord  Moone.  The  real  name  of  the  man  to 
whom  she  engaged  herself  was  James  Buckley  Causton. 
Under  this  name  he  appears  on  the  rolls  of  the  4th  Dragoon 
Guards  as  a  trooper  in  the  years  1862-1867  ;  and  as 
"  Buck  "  Gauston  he  attained  some  celebrity  when,  in  the 
last-named  year,  he  vanquished  one  Piker  Betteridge  in  the 
prize  ring,  in  a  battle  which,  beginning  with  gloves  and 
ending  with  bare  knuckles,  lasted  for  nearly  nine  hours. 

For  all  we  know,  it  may  have  been  Miss  Dragon's  Mr 
Sopley  who,  seeing  the  magnificent  Buck  in  the  ring,  first 
put  it  into  the  ex-trooper's  head  to  become  an  artists'  model. 
However  it  was,  an  artists'  model  he  did  become,  and,  as 
such,  the  rage.  No  doubt  Sopley,  if  it  were  he,  would  gladly 
have  kept  his  discovery  to  himself ;  but  a  neck  like  a 
sycamore  and  a  thorax  capable  of  containing  nine-hours- 
contest  lungs  cannot  be  hid  when  Academy  time  comes 
round.  Sopley's  measure  was  known.  If  Sopley  painted 
an  heroic  picture  it  was  certain  he  had  had  a  hero  as 
model.  The  Academy  opens  in  May ;  before  June  was  out 
Sopley's  find  was  no  longer  his  own.  Sir  Frederick  Henson, 
the  artist  who  moved  so  in  the  world  that  in  him  the  tradition 
of  the  monarch  who  picked  up  the  painter's  brush  for  him 
might  almost  have  been  said  to  live  again,  saw  Buck,  marked 
Buck  down  as  his  own,  and  presently  had  sole  possession 
of  Buck. 

The  Honourable  Emily  Scarisbrick  already  had  possession 
of  Sir  Frederick.  To  be  sure,  it  neither  needed  a  Sir 
Frederick  Henson  to  teach  her  the  stippling  of  birds'  eggs 
and  the  copying  of  castles  for  the  albums  of  her  friends,  nor 
was  the  great  Academician  accustomed  to  stooping  to  the 


* 


PROLOGUE  11 

office  of  salaried  drawing-master ;  but — the  Honourable 
Emily  was  a  Scarisbrick,  of  Mallard  Bois. 

In  Henson's  studio  the  Honourable  Emily  first  saw  Buck 
Causton. 

To  say  that  she  fell  in  love  with  him  would  demand  a 
definition  of  the  term.  Certainly  she  fell  in  something  with 
him.  Perhaps  that  something  was  the  something  that  at 
the  last  thrusts  baronies  and  Mallard  Boises  aside  as  hin- 
drances to  a  design  even  larger  than  that  in  which  they  play 
so  important  a  part ;  but  we  have  nothing  to  do  with  large 
designs  here.  Call  it  what  you  will :  something  proper 
enough  to  legend,  but  of  little  enough  propriety  in  a  modern 
lady's  life ;  a  feeble  echo  of  Komance,  perhaps,  but  never 
itself  to  become  Eomance  unless,  of  it  or  present  scandal,  it 
should  prove  the  stronger.  At  any  rate,  it  was  a  very  differ- 
ent thing  from  anything  she  felt,  or  ever  had  felt,  for  Captain 
Cecil  Chaffinger,  of  the  White  Hussars,  her  brother's  nominee 
for  her  hand. 

It  was  a  word  dropped  by  the  gallant  Captain,  himself  a 
follower  of  the  fancy,  that  led  her  to  the  discovery  that  the 
hero  of  some  feat  or  other  of  extraordinary  skill  and  endur- 
ance, and  the  young  Ajax,  all  chest  and  grey  eyes  and  brown 
curls,  who  did  odd  jobs  about  the  studio  in  the  intervals  of 
posing  for  Henson's  demigodlike  canvases,  were  one  and  the 
same  person.  Her  already  throbbing  pulse  bounded.  She 
herself  was  twenty-eight,  a  small,  dark,  febrile  woman,  given 
over  to  discontents  based  on  nothing  save  on  an  irremediably 
spoiled  childhood,  and  perhaps  hankering  after  an  indis- 
cretion in  the  conviction  that  indiscretions  were  of  two 
kinds — indiscretions,  and  the  indiscretions  of  the  Scaris- 
bricks.  Naturally  she  became  conscious  of  a  quickened 
interest  in  her  art. 

The  first  indication  that  this  interest  passed  beyond  birds' 
eggs  and  castles  was  that  she  began  "  Lessons  in  Drapery." 


12  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

If  here  for  a  few  moments  her  story  becomes  a  little  technical, 
it  may  be  none  the  less  interesting  on  that  account. 

The  study  of  Drapery  as  Drapery  has  not  much  interest 
for  anybody  unless  perhaps  for  a  student  of  mechanics.  For 
all  that,  it  is,  or  then  was,  regarded  by  drawing-masters  as 
a  self-contained  subject,  to  be  tackled,  ticked  off,  and  thence- 
forward possessed.  To  the  study  of  Drapery  in  this  un- 
related sense  the  Honourable  Emily  apparently  inclined. 
Seeing  her  therefore,  in  this  fundamental  error,  Sir  Frederick, 
a  master  of  Drapery,  took  from  her  the  "  copies  "  which  had 
already  supplanted  the  "  copies  "  of  castles  in  her  portfolio, 
and  good-humouredly  began  to  tell  her  what  she  really 
wanted.  What  she  really  wanted,  he  said,  was  to  rid  her 
mind  of  the  idea  that  folds  existed  for  their  own  sake,  and 
to  endeavour  to  realise  that  their  real  significance  lay  in  the 
thing  enfolded.  Miss  Scarisbrick  thanked  him. 

So,  at  first  from  the  lay  figure,  and  then  from  Henson's 
model,  she  began  to  draw  Drapery  with  special  reference  to 
the  thing  draped. 

About  this  time  she  gave  Captain  Ohaffinger  for  an  answer 
a  "  No  "  which  he  refused  to  take.  His  devotion,  he  said, 
forbade  him.  If  by  his  devotion  he  meant  his  devotion  to 
his  creditors,  his  constancy  remained  at  their  service.  In 
the  meantime  he  was  still  able  to  pay  his  old  debts  by 
contracting  new  ones. 

The  Honourable  Emily's  studies  became  diligent. 

There  is  little  to  be  said  about  these  things  except  that 
they  do  happen.  A  word  now  about  Buck's  attitude. 

Had  the  Honourable  Emily's  maid  thrown  herself  at  his 
head  he  would  have  known  what  to  do.  His  sense  of  the 
holiness  of  social  degrees  would  have  received  no  shock. 
But  the  Honourable  Emily,  who  could  command  her  maid, 
could  not  command  what  in  all  probability  her  maid  would 


PROLOGUE  18 

not  have  had  to  ask  twice  for.  The  most  she  got  (when,  after 
much  that  is  omitted  here,  it  did  at  last  dawn  on  the  bashful 
Buck  that  she  had  any  will  in  the  matter  at  all)  was  a  blush 
so  sudden  and  violent  that  it  compelled  an  embarrassed 
reddening  of  her  own  cheeks  also.  Buck  was  not  personally 
outraged.  It  was  his  sense  of  Order  that  was  outraged.  He 
remembered  the  lady's  station  for  her,  and,  stammeringly 
but  reverentially,  put  her  back  into  it. 

Now  to  be  merely  reverential  to  a  woman  who  is  in  love 
with  you  is  to  provoke  impatience,  anger  and  tears.  On  the 
other  hand,  to  see  a  woman  in  tears  because  you  will  not 
permit  her  to  humiliate  herself  is  to  have  the  other  half  of 
an  impossible  situation.  It  was  one  luncheon-time  (the 
Honourable  Emily  now  lunched  frequently  at  the  studio) 
that  the  tears  came. 

"  Oh,  you  don't  care  for  me — you  don't  care  for  me  !  "  she 
sobbed. 

Buck  could  not  truthfully  have  said  that  he  did  care  for 
her  ;  but  there  she  was  before  him,  in  tears. 

"  If  it  were  that  Dragon  girl,  now " 

Buck,  while  not  failing  to  see  the  force  of  this,  could  only 
make  imploring  movements  for  the  Honourable  Emily  to 
calm  herself.  Presently  she  did  calm  herself,  sufficiently 
to  change  her  tone  to  one  of  irony. 

"  Do  you  read  your  Bible  ? "  she  shot  over  her 
shoulder. 

**  Yes,  miss,"  said  Buck — "  that  is — I  mean " 

The  reason  for  Buck's  hesitation  was  that  he  had  suddenly 
doubted  whether  the  Honourable  Emily  would  know  a 
Racing  Calendar  by  the  name  she  had  just  used. 

"  Do  you  mean  The  Bible,  miss  ?  "  he  said,  fidgeting. 

She  snapped  :  "  Yes — the  one  with  the  story  of  Joseph 
in  it " 

She  burst  into  tears  anew. 


14  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

"  Oh,  that  I  should  have  to  beg  a  man  to  marry  me  !  I 
hate  myself — I  hate  you  !  " 

Her  hatred,  however,  did  not  prevent  repetitions  of  the 
scene.  At  the  last  repetition  that  need  trouble  us  here  her 
tears  conquered.  The  helpless  Buck  comforted  her  after 
the  only  fashion  he  knew  anything  about — the  fashion  he 
would  have  used  towards  her  maid — on  his  knee. 

He  still,  however,  called  her  "  Miss." 

They  were  privately  married  in  the  June  of  1869. 

"  Don't  call  me  '  Miss  '  !  "  she  broke  out  petulantly  one 
day  in  the  middle  of  the  honeymoon.  "  And  you  are  not  to 
have  your  meals  with  the  servants  !  I  shall  lunch  in  my 
room  to-day,  and  you  are  to  be  ready  to  take  me  out  at 
three  o'clock." 

"  Yes,  m'm,"  said  Buck. 

Probably  Lord  Moone  had  less  to  do  than  he  supposed 
with  the  separation  that  took  place  in  the  September  of  the 
same  year.  We  may  assume  that  a  much  more  potent  factor 
was  the  Honourable  Mrs  Causton's  remembrance  of  her  own 
words,  "  That  I  should  have  to  beg  a  man  to  marry  me  !  I 
hate  myself — I  hate  you  !  "  She  did  very  soon  hate  both 
herself  and  him.  Poor  Buck  merely  hated  the  whole 
subversive  anomaly. 

He  accepted  the  proposal  that  they  should  separate  with 
perfect  docility.  It  seemed  to  him  entirely  right.  Indeed 
the  only  thing  he  had  not  accepted  with  docility  had  been 
his  introduction  to  Lord  Moone,  on  the  only  occasion  on 
which  the  two  men  ever  met,  as  "  Mr  Buckley,  the  drawing- 
master."  Buck  hadn't  liked  that  much.  He  had  made 
himself  Buck  Gauston  in  nine  hours  of  terrific  combat,  and 
as  Buck  Causton  he  preferred  to  be  known.  But  all  else  he 
suffered  with  touching  obedience,  and  at  the  proposal  that 


PROLOGUE  15 

they  should  go  their  several  ways  his  finger  flew  to  his 
forehead. 

"  Yes,  miss,"  he  said  ;  and  his  heart,  if  not  his  lips,  mur- 
mured the  prayer  that  begins  :  "  God  bless  the  Squire  and 
his  relations " 

They  parted. 

They  only  met  once  more.  This  was  in  the  January  of  the 
following  year,  in  the  great  antlered  hall  at  Mallard  Bois, 
that  was  as  regularly  used  on  all  occasions  as  if  there  had  not 
been  salons  and  galleries  and  drawing-rooms  in  a  dozen  other 
parts  of  the  great  place.  The  Honourable  Mrs  Causton  lay 
on  a  couch  drawn  up  to  the  fire-dogs  ;  her  husband  looked 
submissively  down  on  her,  dwarfing  the  suit  of  armour  of 
Big  Hugo  by  which  he  stood. 

She  made  a  new  proposal.  It  was  that  he  should  put  it 
into  her  hands  to  set  herself  free  once  for  all. 

"  Yes,  miss,"  said  Buck. 

"  Then,"  said  the  Honourable  Mrs  Causton  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  later,  "  there's  the  question  of  cruelty." 

Buck's  thoughts  wandered  slowly  back  to  the  Piker. 

"  Yes,  miss,"  he  said. 

"  I  need  hardly  tell  you  that  as  far  as — er — procedure — 
can  be  stretched  it  will  be  stretched." 

"  Yes,  miss.     Thank  you,  miss." 

Then  wistfully  Buck's  eyes  wandered  from  Big  Hugo's  suit 
of  armour  to  his  wife's  face  again. 

"  Beg  your  pardon,  about  that  cruelty,  miss,"  he  said  un- 
happily. "  Couldn't  I  go  down — just  for  once,  Miss — as  Mr 
Buckley  ?  " 

"  No  ;  but  I  can  assure  you  that  7  don't  want  this  talked 
about  more  than  must  be  either.  Perhaps  I  ought  to  tell 
you  that  I  shall  probably  marry  again." 

Buck's  finger  went  to  his  forehead  again,  this  time  in  a 


16  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

duty  to  his  successor.     Then  his  eyes  grew  grave.     His  wife 
had  made  a  slight  movement. 

"If  I  might  make  so  bold,  miss — there's  another 
thing " 

She  knew  what  he  meant. 

"  You've  nothing  to  do  with  that,"  she  said  quickly. 

Buck  would  have  thought  that  he  had,  but  if  a  lady  said 
he  hadn't,  well,  he  hadn't,  that  was  all. 

"  Yes,  miss.  .  .  .  And  asking  your  pardon  again — about 
that  cruelty  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that's  over,"  said  Mrs  Causton,  closing  her  eyes. 
"  Six  months  ago." 

"  I — I  don't  remember,"  said  Buck  ;  but  once  more,  if  a 
lady  said  it  was  so,  so  it  was.  Again  the  grave  look  came 
into  his  eyes,  and  again  she  understood. 

"  I  can  have  it  looked  after  better  than  you  can,"  she  said. 

"  And — please — you  will  ?  "  he  dared  to  supplicate. 

She  nodded. 

Still  he  hesitated. 

"  If  it's  a  little  boy,  miss — I  might  be  opening  a  Sparring 
Academy — strictly  for  the  gentry — I  wouldn't  charge  him 
nothing " 

And  after  a  little  further  discussion  the  shameful  piece  of 
collusion  came  to  an  end. 

They  were  divorced  in  the  March  of  1870.  On  the  15th 
of  April  the  child  was  born — a  girl.  Fifteen  months  later 
the  Honourable  Emily  married  Captain  Cecil  Chaffinger,  of 
the  White  Hussars. 

II 

THE  child  never  got  on  well  with  her  mother.  Mrs 
Chaffinger  never  forgave  her  her  paternity.  The  gallant 
Captain,  on  the  other  hand,  treated  her  as  he  would  have 


PROLOGUE  17 

treated  his  own  child — that  is  to  say,  he  bought  her  ex- 
travagant toys  if  the  proximity  of  a  toyshop  put  it  into  his 
head  to  do  so,  pinched  her  arms  and  cheeks  and  neck  jocularly 
whenever  he  found  her  head  at  the  level  of  his  waistcoat,  and 
then  departed,  as  likely  as  not  to  pinch  maturer  arms  and 
necks,  not  Mrs  Chaffinger's,  elsewhere.  He  took  his  wife's 
former  mesalliance  with  perfect  serenity.  She  had  paid 
his  debts  and  enabled  him  to  spend  a  day  or  two  in  his 
father's  house  when  he  cared  to  do  so,  and  the  Captain,  who 
was  a  gentleman  and  not  very  much  else  to  boast  of,  held 
faithfully  to  his  part  of  the  bargain.  He  even  dropped  in 
once  or  twice  at  Buck  Causton's  new  Salle  d'Armes  in  Bruton 
Street.  The  child  was  called  by  his  name — Louise  Chaffinger ; 
he  called  her  Mops,  because  of  her  quantities  of  thick  brown 
hair.  The  Honourable  Emily  became  querulous  and  an  in- 
valid ;  took  to  falling  into  dozes  no  matter  who  was  present, 
and  waking  up  again  with  alarming  cries ;  and  she  busied 
herself  with  charitable  works  performed  in  an  uncharitable 
temper. 

Louie  was  not  pretty ;  but  the  jocular  Captain  pinched 
no  prettier  neck  than  hers,  and  declared,  as  the  child  grew, 
that  her  "  points  "  would  be  best  displayed  could  she  go 
about  in  the  largest  and  shadiest  hat  and  the  most  closely 
fitting  tights  possible.  His  house  (which,  by  the  way,  he 
had  begun  to  encumber  again)  was  Trant,  in  Buckingham- 
shire ;  but  the  child  was  packed  ofi  occasionally,  to  be  rid 
of  her,  to  Mallard  Bois,  Lord  Moone's  seat,  there  to  romp 
with  her  cousin,  Eric  Scarisbrick,  already  preparing  for  Eton, 
and  such  small  fry  as  climbed  trees  and  cheeked  the  gardeners 
with  him.  Here  she  revelled  in  the  liberty  that  was  denied 
her  at  home  ;  and  perhaps  she  already  realised  instinctively 
that  her  mother's  relief  at  having  her  out  of  the  way  was 
tempered  only  by  the  invalid's  resentment  that  the  child 
could  be  happy  out  of  her  own  not  very  cheerful  company. 


18  THE   STORY   OF    LOUIE 

Be  that  as  it  may,  the  girl  was  told,  at  twelve  years  of  age, 
that  she  was  getting  too  big  to  kick  those  limbs  her  step- 
father so  admired  about  among  growing  boys.  She  was 
given  half-long  skirts  and  French  and  English  governesses  : 
the  French  one,  though  she  did  not  yet  know  it,  as  a 
preparation  for  sending  her  to  a  Paris  convent. 

At  fourteen  years  of  age  she  had  not  heard  of  the  man 
whose  grey  eyes  and  perfect  shapeliness  of  body  she  in- 
herited. The  Scarisbricks,  be  sure,  had  allowed  that  episode 
to  be  hushed  up.  But  the  day  was  bound  to  come  when  she 
should  hear  of  the  Honourable  Mrs  Causton  and  identify 
that  lady  with  her  mother.  The  day  did  come,  no  matter 
how ;  and,  inwardly  trembling  but  outwardly  resolved,  she 
sought  her  mother.  Mrs  Chaffinger  had  just  come  with  a 
cry  out  of  a  doze.  Her  daughter  demanded  to  be  told  who 
the  Honourable  Mrs  Causton  was.  She  was  told  that  there 
was  no  such  person. 

"  Then  who  was  she  ?  "  the  girl  demanded.  There 
were  few  of  her  questions  to  her  mother  that  were  not 
demands. 

"  Who's  been  telling  you  about  her  ?  " 

That  did  not  seem  to  Louie  to  matter.  She  repeated  the 
question. 

"  She  was  a  very  great  fool,"  Mrs  Chaffinger  snapped. 
"  Why  aren't  you  with  Mademoiselle  ?  " 

"  Who  was  she  besides  being  a  very  great  fool  ?  "  the 
child  persisted. 

It  had  to  come  out. 

"  Then  papa  isn't  my  father  ?  "  Louie  said,  pale.  All 
through  her  life  she  was  pale  in  her  moments  of  stress. 

"  I'm  your  mother,  and  I  tell  you  to  go  to  your  French 
lesson  at  once." 

But  Louie  did  not  move. 

"  Then  who  was  my  father  ?  "  she  asked. 


PROLOGUE  19 

"  Who  do  you  suppose  he  is,  when  I  was  Mrs  Causton  ?  " 

"Is  «...  Then  he  isn't  dead  ?  " 

Mrs  Chaffinger  compressed  her  lips. 

"  I  was  going  to  tell  you  all  about  Mr  Causton  all  in  good 
time  "  (her  daughter  looked  coldly  unbelieving),  "  but  since 
you  are  here  I'll  tell  you  now.  Sit  down  on  that  chair  and 
stop  fidgeting " 

And  she  told  the  girl  the  facts,  not  to  be  denied,  of  the 
divorcing  of  Buck. 

The  end  of  the  matter  was  that  Louie  now  hated,  not  only 
her  mother,  but  her  father  also. 

Her  stepfather  she  thenceforward  addressed  as  "  Chaff." 
He  liked  it. 

Three  months  later  she  was  sent  to  Paris. 

Eight  months  later  still  she  turned  up  again,  not  at 
Trant,  but  at  the  Captain's  club  in  London.  She  announced 
that  she  had  run  away  from  the  convent  and  did  not  intend 
to  return  to  it.  Her  arrival,  though  not  unwelcome,  was 
inopportune,  for  the  Captain  had  a  little  party  that  evening 
and  seemed  disconcerted.  The  toyshops,  he  reflected,  were 
closed,  and  then  he  looked  at  his  stepdaughter  again .... 
It  could  not,  after  all,  have  been  one  of  the  more  charac- 
teristic of  the  Captain's  parties,  for  he  took  Louie  to  it, 
pigtail  and  all,  and  for  a  whole  evening  pinched  nobody. 
Then  he  took  her  to  his  chambers,  winked  at  his  man  in 
token  of  something  extraordinary,  hesitated,  and  then,  with 
an  "  Oh,  be  hanged  to  it !  "  expression,  gave  Louie  the  key 
of  his  own  sleeping  apartment.  Louie  examined  his  prints 
a  little  wonderingly,  but  approved  of  his  ribboned  hair- 
curlers  and  large  frilled  pincushion,  and  then  went  to  sleep. 
The  next  day  the  Captain  took  her  down  to  Trant  and  left 
her  there. 

The  next  few  years  were  a  constant  succession  of 
wrangles  with  her  mother.  She  had  flatly  refused  to  return 


20  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

to  the  convent,  and  if  the  honourable  Emily  was  petulant, 
her  daughter  was  merciless.  She  had  been  put  off  with  the 
drawing-master  version  of  her  mother's  marriage,  but  that 
was  enough ;  she  held  it  over  her  mother's  head,  and  Buck, 
if  he  had  desired  revenge,  had  it.  She  knew  herself  to  be 
hybrid,  and  treated  the  Scarisbricks  and  their  drawing- 
masters  with  equal  scorn.  Worse,  she  treated  them  equally 
with  a  contemptuous  tolerance.  She  harped  with  pride  on 
the  baser  strain.  In  a  word,  there  was  no  doing  anything 
with  her. 

She  reached  the  age  of  twenty-one. 

At  twenty-two  she  expressed  a  wish  to  go  on  the  stage, 
The  Captain,  who  was  genuinely  fond  of  her,  stopped  that. 
At  twenty-three  she  declared  plainly  that  "  a  girl  in  her 
position  "  ought  to  have  a  means  of  earning  her  own  living 
— not  necessarily  drawing.  The  Captain  being  averse  from 
this  also,  she  took  the  matter  into  her  own  hands  by  writing 
to  the  secretary  of  a  Horticultural  College  in  Somerset- 
shire, paying  her  fees,  and  enrolling  herself  as  a  student 
without  saying  a  word  to  anybody.  She  packed  her  boxes, 
and  in  the  second  week  of  January  1894  presented  herself 
before  her  mother,  dressed  for  travelling,  and  announced 
that  she  had  very  little  time  in  which  to  catch  her  train. 

"  Oh,  by  the  way,"  she  said,  turning  at  the  door,  "  if  you 
write,  you  might  address  letters  to  me  in  my  own  name — 
Causton." 

Then  she  left. 

"  Was  die  Mutter  traumt,  das  vollbringt  die  Tochter." 
Here,  with  its  repetitions  of  and  its  departures  from  that 
of  the  Honourable  Emily,  follows  her  story. 


PART  ONE 
RAINHAM  PARVA 


THE  Horticultural  College  at  Rainham  Parva,  now  defunct, 
was  hardly  a  college  in  the  modern  sense  at  all.  Its 
technical  books  were  antiquated  ;  it  had  only  one  or  two 
old  microscopes ;  and  it  totally  lacked  the  newer  trimmings 
of  specialisation.  Its  founder,  a  Bristol  seedsman  called 
Chesson,  had  bought  the  place  cheaply,  house  and  all,  a 
dozen  years  before,  and  having  five  hardy  daughters  eating 
their  heads  off  at  home,  had,  as  the  saying  is,  economically 
emancipated  them.  That  meant  then  (whatever  it  may 
mean  now)  that,  realising  that  the  wages  of  two  men  and  a 
boy  might  be  saved,  he  had  had  them  down  to  Rainham 
Parva  and  had  set  them  to  work. 

The  second  Miss  Chesson,  Miss  Harriet,  had  shown  a  real 
aptitude  for  the  work.  She  had  won,  after  three  years,  a 
Diploma,  and  this  Diploma,  together  with  the  presence  in 
the  house  as  paying  boarder  of  a  niece  of  Chesson's,  had 
put  an  idea  into  the  seedsman's  head — the  premium  idea. 
With  the  Diploma  properly  advertised,  its  grantee  made 
Principal,  a  premium  or  so  forgone  (called  a  Scholarship) 
and  the  proper  person  installed  over  all  as  Lady-in-Charge, 
Chesson  had  foreseen  a  good  deal  of  his  work  being  done 
by  young  women  who  would  pay  for  the  privilege  of  being 
allowed  to  do  it.  There  is  no  need  to  describe  the  develop- 
ment of  the  idea.  The  enterprise  had  prospered,  and 
when  Louie  Causton  had  put  her  name  down  on  the  books 
and  paid  her  fees  the  complement  of  thirty  girls  was  full. 

She  did  not,  after  all,  travel  down  alone.  Her  stepfather, 
hinting  that  it  was  not  necessary  to  say  anything  about  this 

23 


24  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

to  her  mother,  made  the  journey  with  her.  The  pair  of 
them  shortened  the  hours  by  guessing  which  of  the  young 
women  in  the  same  train  were  to  be  Louie's  fellow-students  ; 
and  when  they  alighted  at  Rainham  Magna  station  the 
Captain  put  Louie  and  her  traps  into  one  of  the  nondescript 
vehicles  that  only  saw  the  light  when  the  Rainham  girls 
arrived  or  departed,  and  drove  off  with  her  to  the  college. 
There  he  shook  hands  with  the  Lady-in-Charge,  Mrs 
Lovenant-Smith,  and  asked  her  whether  she  was  related  to 
Lovenant-Smith  of  the  24th.  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith's  reply 
did  not  actually  affirm  her  regret  that  she  was  so  related, 
but  the  Captain's  affability  dried  up  suddenly.  He  was 
returning  to  town  by  the  four- o'clock  train ;  before  doing 
so  he  took  a  turn  round  the  place  with  Louie. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  as  Louie  took  her  leave  of  him  at  the 
gates,  "  it's  a  good  growing  country,  I  should  say ;  rum 
idea  of  yours  though.  .  .  .  You've  heard  me  speak  of 
Lovenant-Smith,  haven't  you  ?  Adjutant  eight  or  nine 
years  ago  ;  not  a  bad  chap  at  all,  /  should  have  said. 
She'll  be  one  of  the  Shropshire  lot,  I  expect.  I  knew  he 
had  people  down  there.  .  .  .  Well,  mind  you  don't  run 
away  with  a  gardener.  'Bye,  Mops " 

And  he  was  off,  tugging  at  his  moustache  and  inwardly 
commenting  that  the  whole  escapade  was  "  just  like  Louie." 

It  was  a  good  growing  country.  Chesson  said  that  the 
mildness  of  the  winters  was  due  to  the  Gulf  Stream ;  Miss 
Harriet  Chesson  attributed  it  to  ozone — ozone  having  been 
a  word  to  conjure  with  at  the  time  when  she  had  taken  her 
Diploma.  Ozone  or  Gulf  Stream,  it  provided  wild  violets 
in  December,  lemon-verbena  that  grew  in  trees  up  the  sides 
of  the  cottages  and  had  to  be  cut  away  from  the  upper 
windows,  and  filled  the  deep  lanes  with  the  hart's-tongue 
fern.  It  also  brought  forth  rich  produce.  The  dairy  business 
and  poultry  farm  flourished ;  crates  and  parcels  and  returned 


RAINHAM   PARVA  25 

empties  kept  the  goods  clerk  at  Rainham  Magna  station 
busy  ;  and,  when  the  heather  bloomed  on  the  hill  that  rose 
between  Chesson's  and  the  sea,  the  "  Rainham  Heather 
Honey,"  green  as  bronze  and  thick  as  glue,  was  at  a  pre- 
mium. At  the  crest  of  the  hill  the  seedsman's  estate  ended. 
Beyond  that,  dropping  abruptly  to  the  west,  lay  deep 
wooded  coombes,  green  to  the  very  rocks  of  the  shore. 

Louie's  age  put  her  at  once  out  of  the  class  of  the  "  new 
girl "  who,  in  the  school  tales,  sits  pathetically  on  her  box 
and  waits  for  somebody  to  speak  to  her.  She  was  twenty- 
four,  and  probably  only  one  other  student,  the  copper- 
haired  girl  with  the  long  thin  neck  and  the  "  salt-cellars  " 
showing  through  her  white  flannel  blouse,  who  asked  her 
her  number  and  offered  to  show  her  the  way  to  her  cubicle, 
was  more  than  twenty-two.  Her  large  black  feathered 
hat  (see  the  first  part  of  the  Captain's  advice  as  to  how 
she  would  make  the  most  of  herself),  and  her  expensively 
simple  navy  blue  coat  and  skirt  down  to  her  toes,  further 
distinguished  her  among  the  tweed  jackets  and  ankle- 
length  skirts  of  the  younger  girls.  No  doubt  she  had  her 
perfect  management  of  these  and  her  numerous  other 
garments  from  her  mother's  former  interest  in  the  study 
of  Drapery.  If  the  Captain  did  not  think  her  face  pretty, 
it  must  be  remembered  that  the  Captain  had  standards  of 
prettiness  of  his  own.  Pretty  in  the  professional-beauty 
sense  her  irregular  mouth  and  long  chin  perhaps  were  not. 
Her  large,  clear,  pebble-grey  eyes  at  any  rate  were  arresting. 

The  copper-haired  girl,  having  shown  Louie  her  cubicle, 
offered  to  show  her  the  rest  of  the  house  also.  They  began 
upstairs  on  the  first  floor,  where  the  girls  slept.  The  place 
was  an  old  mansion  in  the  form  of  a  hollow  square,  and  as 
they  came  to  each  latticed  embrasure  Louie  stopped  to  look 
at  the  famous  Rainham  yew  that  almost  filled  the  grass- 
grown  inner  courtyard.  The  corridors  were  dark,  and 


26  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

sudden  steps  where  no  steps  were  to  have  been  expected 
made  of  the  uneven  floors  a  series  of  booby-traps  for  those 
not  familiar  with  them.  Memories  of  the  Monmouth 
Rebellion  seemed  to  linger  round  the  corners  and  to  be 
shut  up  in  the  cupboards  of  the  place.  They  passed  down- 
stairs. Through  the  doorway  of  the  handsome  Restora- 
tion f a9ade  they  saw  the  yew  again,  dark  beyond  the  shining 
flags  of  the  hall.  Louie  had  already  been  in  the  reception- 
room  and  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith's  private  apartments  on  the 
right  of  the  doorway ;  on  the  left,  she  was  told,  were  the 
quarters  of  Miss  Harriet  (who  alone  of  Chesson's  daughters 
remained  there)  and  the  staff.  The  domestics  slept  at  the 
top  of  the  house;  the  four  male  gardeners  (all  married) 
occupied  the  farm  a  furlong  away  at  the  back. 

"  But  wouldn't  you  like  some  tea  ?  "  said  the  copper- 
haired  girl.  "  It's  in  the  dining-room." 

"  I  was  told  to  report  myself  to  Miss  Chesson  at  five," 
said  Louie,  looking  at  her  watch. 

"  Well,  you've  just  time,  if  you're  quick " 

They  sought  the  room  where  the  housekeeper  ran  cups 
of  tea  from  the  tap  of  a  large  and  funereal  bronze  urn. 

It  was  ten  minutes  to  five  when  Louie  entered  the  dining- 
room.  Before  the  clock  had  struck  five  she  had  taken  a 
certain  position  in  the  college. 

She  herself  hardly  knew  how  it  happened.  The  room 
was  full  of  noise  and  chatter,  and  near  Louie,  talking  louder 
and  making  more  noise  than  anybody  else,  was  a  lanky 
child  of  sixteen,  to  be  a  tall  blonde  beauty  in  another  three 
or  four  years'  time,  but  so  far  only  a  mass  of  unadjusted 
proportions  and  movements  that  lacked  co-ordination. 
She  had  several  distinct  voices,  and  in  one  of  these  she  was 
now  engaged  in  unabashed  mimicry.  Louie,  who  had  got 
her  cup  of  tea,  heard  a  bell-like  "  Os-trich  feathers  !  "  and 
she  was  about  to  put  a  question  to  the  copper-haired  girl 


RAINHAM   PARVA  27 

when,  with  a  mock  reverence  and  an  explosive  "  Your 
Ma-jesty !  "  the  child  swept  backwards  into  her.  She 
barely  saved  her  cup  of  tea.  The  girl  gave  a  quick  turn  ; 

her  "  Glum "  was  changed  to  a  "  Sorry  !  "  as  she  saw  a 

new  face,  and  Louie  smiled. 

"  Your  feet  were  all  wrong,"  Louie  said. 

The  blonde  child  turned  eagerly  again. 

"  Can  you  do  it  ?  "  she  asked. 

The  next  moment,  before  Louie  could  get  out  "A  drawing- 
room  curtsy  ?  Yes,"  the  child  had  cried  :  "  Girls  !  Girls  ! 
Here's  somebody  who  knows  how  to  do  it !  Do  come  and 
show  us  !  " 

"  Really  ?  "  said  Louie,  smiling,  and  handing  her  cup  of 
tea  to  the  copper-haired  girl. 

"  Yes — come  here,  Khoda,  and  watch  (that's  my  sister 
— she's  to  be  presented,  you  know)." 

Louie  laughed.  "  Quickly  then — I  have  to  see  Miss 
Chesson " 

And,  pushed  unceremoniously  forward,  and  still  in  her 
feathered  hat  and  navy  blue  costume,  Louie  made  her 
first  bow  to  her  fellow-students  at  Chesson's  in  the  deep  and 
swanlike  genuflexion  she  had  practised  with  her  cousin, 
Cynthia  Scarisbrick,  a  couple  of  years  before.  Then  she 
ran  out,  smiling. 

"  How  ripping  !  "  she  heard  somebody  say  as  she  did  so. 
"  I  expect  she's  been  presented." 

Louie  sought  Miss  Harriet. 

The  Principal,  a  businesslike,  damson-complexioned 
woman  of  forty-five,  with  a  deerstalker  hat  on  her  close- 
cropped  curly  hair,  asked  her  what  course  of  study  she 
proposed  to  take.  Louie  replied  (in  other  words)  that  all 
courses  were  the  same  to  her.  Miss  Harriet  had  had  that 
kind  of  student  before.  She  asked  a  few  further  questions, 
and  then  put  Louie  down  for  the  elementary  course.  She 


28  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

dismissed  her  with  a  marked  syllabus  and  a  copy  of  the 
Rules. 

Louie  read  the  Rules,  nodded,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  I 
thought  so  !  "  and  then  laughed.  There  was  no  need  to 
ask  who  had  drawn  them  up  ;  she  remembered  the  frigid 
way  in  which  Chaff  had  been  put  into  his  place  that  after- 
noon. There  was  a  serenity  about  them  that  transcended 
the  ordinary  imperative  mood.  "  Students  do  not  absent 
themselves  from  Morning  Prayers  or  Divine  Service  without 
Permission"  "  Students  do  not  give  Orders  to  the  Gardeners 
or  Domestics"  " Students  do  not  pass  beyond  the  Bounds 
of  the  College  (Map  appended)."  If  on  occasion  students 
did  all  of  these  things,  that  did  not  detract  from  the  largior 
ether  in  which  the  Rules  were  conceived. 

Nor  did  mere  evidence  to  the  contrary  ever  in  the  least 
degree  abate  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith's  persuasion  that  the 
young  ladies  of  Chesson's,  being  the  daughters  of  gentle- 
folk, were  by  that  very  fact  almost  to  be  trusted  to  do 
without  Rules  at  all. 

On  the  following  morning  Louie,  with  leggings  of  doeskin 
buttoned  to  her  knees  (see  the  second  of  the  Captain's 
recommendations  for  the  attire  that  suited  her  best),  and 
wearing  a  wide-pocketed  jacket  not  unlike  a  man's,  began 
the  practical  study  of  Horticulture. 


II 

SHE  was  attached  to  the  "  posse  "  of  six  girls  of  which  the 
copper-haired  student,  whose  name  was  Richenda  Earle, 
was  the  head.  This  girl,  as  the  holder  of  the  scholarship 
mentioned  a  page  or  two  back,  was  the  single  non-fee- 


RAINHAM   PARVA  29 

paying  student  in  the  place.  Her  father  was  a  bookseller 
in  Westbourne  Grove,  and  she  had  kept  his  books  for  him 
before  coming  to  Chesson's.  She  had  picked  up  her  know- 
ledge of  book-keeping  at  an  obscure  and  ill-appointed 
Business  School  in  Holborn,  but,  her  health  being  anything 
but  robust,  she  had  taken  up  gardening  under  the  impres- 
sion that  it  was  an  out-of-doors  pursuit.  It  was  only  this 
at  Chesson's  to  a  strictly  limited  extent.  Whatever 
students  did  or  did  not  learn,  the  output  for  the  market 
had  to  be  maintained,  and  this  necessitated,  for  days  and 
days  together,  work  in  the  twelve  long  glass-houses,  from 
the  humid  heat  of  which  the  girls  came  out  limp  and  listless 
and  relaxed.  Kichenda  Earle  suffered  from  these  depres- 
sions more  than  most  of  them,  and  now  only  remained  at  the 
college  because  Miss  Harriet  had  held  out  hopes  for  her  of 
a  place  on  the  staff.  She  was  easily  head  of  all  the  classes 
of  which  she  was  a  member,  but  was  hopelessly  incapable 
of  making  her  personality  felt.  Add  to  all  this  that  she 
was  avid  of  popularity,  and  that  her  self-consciousness 
took  the  form  of  making  her  more  assertive  (without  being 
a  bit  more  effective)  than  any  girl  in  the  college,  and  you 
will  see  why  Louie  felt  a  little  sorry  for  her  without  taking 
to  her  very  much.  She  for  her  part  had  fastened  herself 
on  Louie  from  the  start,  and  had  been  the  first  to  put  the 
question  that  Louie  had  had  to  answer  a  dozen  times 
before  she  had  been  at  Chesson's  two  hours. 

"  No,  I  haven't  been  presented,"  Louie  had  said,  finding 
herself  waylaid  almost  at  the  door  of  Miss  Harriet's  room 
as  she  had  come  out  again.  "  My  cousin  has ;  that's 
where  I  learned  it.  We  practised  it  together." 

"  I've  seen  them  go  in,"  Eichenda  had  murmured,  a 
little  wistfully,  a  little  dully ;  "  the  carriages  and  things, 
you  know.  I  live  in  London." 

Thereupon  she  had  volunteered  some  of  the  information 


30  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

stated  above,  as  if  inviting  a  confidence  in  return.  "  I'm 
glad  you're  in  my  posse,"  she  had  concluded,  as  Louie  had 
turned  away  without  giving  any  information  whatever 
about  herself. 

The  remaining  members  of  "  Earle's  posse  "  were  the 
two  Burnett  sisters  ("  B  Major,"  the  girl  who  was  to  be 
presented,  and  "  B  Minor,"  the  sixteen-year-old  beauty- 
to-be),  a  Scotch  girl  called  Macfarlane,  and  one  other 
girl,  half  French,  Beatrice  Pigou.  There  were  four  other 
posses  at  the  college,  and  each  was  told  off  each  day  to 
put  itself  under  the  direction  of  one  or  other  of  the  four 
gardeners,  to  pot,  "  prick  out,"  water  or  whatever  the  task 
might  be.  The  gardener  at  present  in  charge  of  Louie's 
posse  was  a  sullen  young  Apollo  called  Priddy,  whose  face 
and  neck  and  forearms  ozone  or  the  Gulf  Stream  had  turned 
to  the  hue  of  some  deep  and  old  and  mellow  violin ;  and 
Burnett  Minor  and  the  younger  girls,  talking  in  terms  of  the 
Life  to  which  their  eyes  were  yet  sealed,  discussed  Priddy 
with  a  freedom  perfectly  innocent  and  entirely  appalling. 

Louie  had  not  been  at  Rainham  Parva  two  days  before 
she  was  wondering  whether  after  all  she  wanted  to  stay. 
She  didn't  know  really  why  she  had  come.  Not  one  of  the 
three  commonest  reasons  for  girls  .being  there — a  step- 
mother, to  be  able  to  earn  a  little  pocket-money,  or  to  get 
over  a  youthful  love-affair — quite  fitted  her  case.  And 
then  there  were  those  ridiculous  Rules.  She  supposed  that 
if  she  stayed  she  would  be  on  the  same  footing  as  the  juniors, 
and  she  hardly  thought  she  could  submit  to  that.  Not 
that  the  Rules  did  not  seem  to  justify  themselves ;  on  the 
contrary,  they  did.  Merely  because  Mrs  Lovenant- 
Smith  affirmed  that  students  did  not  do  this  or  that, 
students  as  a  matter  of  fact  either  did  not  do  these  things, 
or  else  consented  to  class  themselves  as  transgressors  when 
they  did. 


RAINHAM   PARVA  31 

But  Louie's  own  attitude  in  the  face  of  a  prohibited  thing, 
inherited  from  her  mother  and  now  made  inveterate  by  her 
upbringing,  was  invariably  that  of  a  wonder  what  would 
happen  were  the  prohibition  to  be  disregarded. 

It  was  just  a  wonder,  nothing  more. 

Then,  on  the  night  of  her  third  day  at  Chesson's,  she  made 
up  her  mind  to  forfeit  her  fees  and  leave  in  the  morning. 
The  reason  for  her  decision  was  this  : 

During  the  vacation  certain  digging  had  been  allowed  by 
the  gardeners  to  fall  into  arrears ;  and  Earle's  posse,  to- 
gether with  another  set  of  six  girls,  had  been  set  to  do  it. 
Now  digging  was  the  hardest  work  the  girls  were  ever  called 
upon  to  do,  and  at  the  beginning  of  the  term  at  any  rate 
they  were  spared  it  as  much  as  possible.  But  education  or 
output  required  that  this  digging  should  be  done,  and  ac- 
cordingly the  twelve  girls  had  digged  for  the  whole  morning, 
and  in  the  afternoon  had  varied  the  labour  by  carrying  heavy 
pots  from  House  No.  6  to  House  No.  10 — a  distance  of 
perhaps  sixty  yards.  The  next  morning  twelve  girls  (or 
rather  eleven,  for  Burnett  Minor's  unset  muscles  had  suffered 
but  little)  were  half  incapacitated  by  stiffness,  and  that  night 
there  was  an  outcry  for  hot  baths  and  arnica.  Louie,  clad 
in  dressing-gown  and  slippers  and  carrying  her  soap  and 
sponge  and  towel,  hobbled  to  the  bathrooms,  and  came,  in 
the  box-room,  upon  an  indignation-meeting. 

This  box-room  was  the  common  meeting-ground  for 
students  who  awaited  their  turns  at  the  baths.  It  lay  over 
the  back  courtyard  arch,  and  the  four  bathrooms  adjoined 
it,  two  on  either  side.  It  was  piled  almost  to  the  ceiling 
with  trunks  and  boxes  and  dress-baskets,  the  white  initials 
of  which  glimmered  in  the  shadows  cast  by  a  couple  of 
candles  on  the  floor  ;  but  there  were  isolated  boxes  enough 
to  make  seats  for  the  seven  or  eight  girls  already  assembled 
there.  They  had  slippers  on  their  naked  feet  and  single 


32  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

garments  on  their  aching  bodies  ;  and  on  one  of  Louie's  own 
boxes  Burnett  Major  was  peering  at  the  little  blue  flame  of 
a  spirit-kettle  and  mixing  in  a  row  of  cups  the  paste  for  that 
beverage  of  revolt — cocoa.  Burnett  Minor  had  traitorously 
turned  the  general  righteous  anger  to  private  account,  had 
"  bagged  "  the  hottest  bath,  and  was  now  carolling  at  the 
top  of  her  lungs  in  the  right-hand  bathroom. 

— then  if  Earle  won't  do  it  I  vote  we  draw  lots  !  " 
Macfarlane  was  exclaiming  shrilly  as  Louie  opened  the  door. 
"  Those  lazy  louts  of  gardeners  are  supposed  to  have  all  the 
digging  done  before  we  come  up " 

They  were  not — not  if  Chesson  knew  it ;  but  "  Of  course 
they  are  !  "  cried  five  voices  at  once. 

"  Well,  I'm  just  not  going  to  stand  it — there " 

"  And  I'm  not— 

"  Nor  me " 

"  And  for  two  pins  I'd  tell  Priddy  so  !  " 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  but  only  because,  all  having 
spoken  at  once,  all  had  to  take  breath  at  once. 

"  It's  abominable— 

"  Disgusting " 

"  Cela  m'einbete " 

"  Here's  Causton — what  do  you  vote,  Causton  ?  "  they 
cried,  turning  to  her. 

"  What  about  ?  "  Louie  asked. 

"  Why,  everything,  of  course — this  beastly  place — and 
setting  us  to  dig  the  first  week — and  Priddy's  beastly 
cheek " 

Then  every  tongue  was  unloosed. 

"  And  a  row  every  time  we  want  an  extra  blouse 
washed " 


And  washing  two  guineas  a  term  extra- 


"  And  only  the  vuggles  for  dinner  that  aren't  good  enough 
for  the  market "     ("  Vuggles  "  were  vegetables.) 


RAINHAM   PARVA  33 

Another  pause  for  breath. 

"  Let's  what-d'-you-call-it — strike " 

Louie  laughed  as  she  sat  stiffly  down  by  Burnett  Major. 

"  Oh,  I'll  vote  for  anything  you  like  ;  I  don't  care,"  she 
said. 

Then  they  began  anew. 

"  Earle's  head  of  the  posse — she  ought  to  do  it " 

Richenda  Earle's  voice  broke  in  in  loud  complaint. 

"  How  can  I  ?  You  know  I  would  like  a  shot  if  it  wasn't 
for  my  scholarship.  But  I  should  just  be  told  that  if  I 
didn't  like  it  I  could  go.  Elwell's  head  of  your  lot.  Elwell 
ought  to  go." 

"  I  don't  care  who  goes,  but  I  will  not  be  told  to  do  things 
by  Priddy." 

"Priddy! " 

(Louie  smiled  again  as  there  came  from  the  bathroom  the 
joyful  voice  : 

"  Ear-ly  one  mo-o-orning — as  the  su-un  was  a-rising ! ") 

"  And  those  pots  hadn't  got  to  be  moved — he  was  only 
making  work " 

"  — gros  tyran  ! " 

"  — like  they  kept  us  three  weeks  grading  and  packing 

tomatoes  last  autumn,  and  called  it  '  study  ' " 

— and  the  bruised  ones  for  us " 

"  — not  even  fit  for  ketchup " 

-  Dothegirls  Hall  this  establishment   ought   to   be 
called  ! " 

Another  momentary  pause  :  then : 

— let's  all  sign  a  petition " 

— no,  a  what-d'you-call-it — an  ultimatum " 

"  — just  telling  them  straight " 

"  Your  bath,  Earle " 

From  the  bathroom  had  come  the  gurgle  of  escaping  water. 
Boiled  pink,  turbaned  with  her  towel,  smelling  of  somebody 


34  THE    STORY    OF   LOUIE 

else's  scented  soap  and  radiating  unrepentance  that  Earle's 
bath  must  be  a  tepid  one,  Burnett  Minor  bounced  in. 

"  Friends,  Romans,  countrymen,  do  lend  me  a  dry  towel, 
just  to  finish  with.  Oh,  Causton,  the  curtsy,  now  that  I've 
something  loose  on  !  Crocks  !  My  cocoa,  Major,  and  who 
said  Priddy  just  now  ?  '  Students  do  not  fall  in  love  with 
Priddy.'  (I  sha'n't  hush.)  Sugar,  Mac,  and,  Causton,  I 

wish  you'd  do  my  hair  your  way,  just  to  see  how  it  looks " 

And,  twirling  twice  in  the  midst  of  a  corolla  of  pink 
cashmere  dressing-gown,  she  sank  to  the  floor  and  began  to 
nurse  a  chilblain  on  her  heel. 

Louie,  her  hands  behind  her  head,  leaned  back  and 
watched  the  scene  with  the  greatest  amusement.  A  master- 
rebel  herself,  she  knew  that  here  was  no  rebellion.  The 
meeting,  like  other  meetings,  was  merely  letting  off  steam, 
and  the  girls  who  "  wouldn't  stand  it "  would  be  standing 
it  exactly  the  same  on  the  morrow.  Well,  on  the  morrow 
she  herself  would  be  ofi.  Her  boxes  were  only  half  unpacked ; 
half-an-hour  would  put  the  other  things  back  again.  Already 
she  saw  that  this  Chesson's  was  an  imposition.  In  the 
meantime,  the  indignation  meeting  was  very  amusing.  She 
felt  almost  motherly  towards  these  tractable  revolutionaries. 
Her  indulgence  became  still  greater  as  they  broke  out  again. 

"  Another  thing,"  a  girl  of  Elwell's  posse  demanded  ; 
"  why  couldn't  I  go  to  Rainham  yesterday  to  have  my 
photograph  taken  ?  " 

("  Break  the  camera,"  Burnett  Minor  murmured  to  the 
chilblain.) 

"  And  just  because  somebody'd  bagged  my  boots  and  I 
was  five  minutes  late  the  other  day 

"  Je  m'en  fiche  pas  rnal "  Pigou  began. 

("  Parly  Angly,  voo  affectay  feele,"  from  Burnett  Minor.) 

"  I  should  like  to  see  one  of  the  gardeners  at  home  looking 
at  us  the  way  Priddy  does " 


RAINHAM   PARVA  85 

"  Or  Miss  Harriet  either  for  that  matter — she's  only  a  sort 

of  forewoman " 

"  — applewoman " 

"  — tomatoes " 


"  —that's  all  she  is  really " 

"  — nothing  else " 

Louie  laughed  outright.  Another  gurgle  had  come  from 
the  bathroom,  and  Barle  reappeared.  Her  announcement 
that  the  water  was  now  cold  added  to  the  general  sense  of 
wrong. 

"  Not  even  enough  hot  water  !  " 

"  Scarcely  a  drop,  ever  ! " 

"  Odious !  " 

"  Then  will  somebody  come  into  my  cubicle  and  rub  me — 
not  you,  B  Minor." 

("  Just  give  a  squint  out  of  the  window,  Elwell.") 

("  It's  all  right.    Her  lights  are  out.    Lovey's  too.") 

"  Well,  I  won't  have  a  cold  bath,  to  please  Lovey  or  any- 
body else  !  " 

Nor  did  Louie  want  one.  She  had  risen.  She  moved  to 
the  window  that  looked  out  over  the  courtyard  yew — the 
window  from  which  watch  was  kept  to  see  when  Miss  Harriet 
and  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith  retired — and  yawned.  In  the 
middle  of  her  yawn  she  suddenly  laughed  again. 

"  Good  gracious  !  "  she  thought.     It  was  too  amusing. 

Suddenly  Richenda  Earle,  who  also  was  standing  by  the 
window,  spoke  to  her.  Evidently  Richenda  did  not  think 
she  had  been  fairly  treated  by  the  meeting. 

"  Do  you  think  they  ought  to  ask  me  to  ?  "  she  com- 
plained. 

Louie  turned. 

"  To  ask  you  to  what  ?  " 

"  To  complain  to  Miss  Harriet — me,  the  only  Scholarship 
girl." 


86  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

Louie  shrugged  her  shoulders  disdainfully.  "  Oh,  they 
won't  complain  to  Miss  Harriet !  " 

"  No — but  one  doesn't  like  to  refuse  things "  Earle 

said  in  injured  tones. 

Before  Louie  would  have  had  time  to  reply  to  this,  had 
she  thought  of  replying  to  it,  a  diversion  occurred.  Nobody 
had  heard  steps  approaching,  but  all  at  once  the  door  opened, 
and  Authority,  in  the  person,  not  of  Miss  Harriet,  but  of  Mrs 
Lovenant-Smith  herself,  stood  looking  in.  The  hubbub 
ceased  as  the  boiling  of  a  kettle  ceases  when  cold  water  is 
poured  in.  Several  of  the  conspirators  rose  to  their  feet ; 
Burnett  Minor,  making  no  bones  about  it,  bolted  behind  a 
box.  Great  is  even  the  look  of  Authority  ;  it  was  almost  a 
superfluity  when  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith  asked  in  measured 
tones  from  the  doorway ;  "  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?  " 

Already  the  tails  of  two  dressing-gowns  had  vanished  out 
of  the  other  door. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?  "  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith 
asked  again. 

Then  she  looked  round  to  see  on  whom  to  fasten  her  dis- 
pleasure. 

Louie  saw  her  look,  and  instantly  fathomed  its  purpose. 
She  and  Richenda  Earle  stood  by  the.  window,  as  it  were  the 
dramatic  centre  of  some  Rembrandtesque  composition  to 
which  all  else  was  merely  contributory.  The  Scholarship 
girl  was  going  to  get  into  a  row.  She,  Louie,  had  lived  for 
years  among  rows,  and  was  leaving  anyway  on  the  morrow. 

Before  the  "  Miss  Earle "  had  passed  Mrs  Lovenant- 
Smith's  lips  Louie  had  stepped  forward. 

"  We've  been  waiting  for  our  baths,"  she  said. 

Perhaps  already  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith  would  have  pre- 
ferred Richenda  Earle  to  Louie  ;  there  is  expediency  even 
in  Authority  ;  but  the  challenge,  if  it  was  that,  was  a  public 
one.  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith  turned  to  Louie. 


RAINHAM   PARVA  37 

"  Do  you  know  what  time  it  is  ?  "  she  asked  freezingly. 

It  pleased  Louie  to  take  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith's  question 
at*  pied  de  la  lettre. 

"  I'm  afraid  my  watch  is  in  my  cubicle.  I  could  tell  you 
in  a  moment,"  she  said. 

This  the  Lady-in-Charge  saw  fit  to  ignore.  She  drew  her 
own  watch  from  her  belt. 

"  It  is  ten  minutes  past  eleven,"  she  said.  "  Students 
are  not  out  of  bed  at  ten  minutes  past  eleven.  Neither  are 
candles  burning.  Miss  Earle " 

But  again  Louie  interposed.  After  all,  it  was  rough  on  the 
Scholarship  girl. 

"  Miss  Earle  came  in  only  a  moment  ago  to  send  us  to 
bed,"  she  affirmed,  without  a  tremor. 

"  Then,"  said  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith,  turning  to  Louie,  and 
perhaps  feeling  herself  once  more  headed  off,  "  you,  Miss 
Causton.  as  a  new  student,  are  perhaps  not  yet  familiar  with 
the  Rules.  Be  so  good  as  to  come  to  me  at  ten  o'clock  to- 
morrow morning  and  I  will  explain  them  to  you." 

Mrs  Lovenant-Smith  did  not  make  the  discomfited  rebels 
file  out  past  her.  She  herself  retired  with  dignity.  Students 
do  not  linger  in  the  box-room  when  it  is  made  known  that 
they  are  expected  to  go  to  bed  at  once. 

But  no  sooner  had  the  door  closed  on  Mrs  Lovenant- 
Smith's  back  than  the  pent-up  general  breath  escaped  again 
in  a  fluttering  exhalation.  In  it  were  awe,  delight,  homage. 

"  Oh,  Causton  !  "  somebody  breathed.  "  You  are  a 
brick  !  " 

"  Isn't  she  ?  " 

"  Wasn't  it  stunning  of  her  ?  " 

"  You'd  have  caught  it,  Earle  !  " 

"  I  saw  it  in  her  eye  !  " 

"  But  I  say,  Causton,  you'll  get  a  wigging  !  " 

"  She  didn't  speak  to  you,  you  know  !  " 


38  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

"  You  cut  in " 

Louie  felt  quite  confused,  so  much  did  they  make  of  so 
little. 

"  Good  gracious,"  she  said,  "  what  are  you  all  talking 
about  ?  That's  nothing,  especially  as  I  was  thinking  of 
leaving  in  any  case  to-morrow." 

There  was  consternation  in  the  box-room .  Had  Rebellion 
found  its  leader  only  to  lose  her  again  immediately  ? 

"  Leaving ! " 

"  Oh,  I  sha'n't  leave  till  after  ten  o'clock  now,  you  may  be 
sure,"  Louie  laughed. 

"  But— oh,  I  say  \  " 

The  dismayed  voices  dropped.  There  was  a  blank  silence. 
It  was  only  after  half-a-minute  that  Burnett  Minor,  who  had 
issued  from  cover  again,  begged :  "  Don't  leave,  Causton." 

"  Oh,  I  shouldn't  leave  because  of  anything  like  this," 
said  Louie,  enormously  amused  at  the  thought.  "  The 
place  is  a  fraud — that's  why  I  should  leave." 

"  Oh,  don't  leave,"  another  girl  begged. 

"  Well,  we'll  see  what  she  says  to-morrow." 

"  She  can't  be  too  down  on  you " 

"  Not  the  first  time " 

Something  that  can  only  be  described  as  a  pleasant 
hardening  came  into  Louie's  grey  eyes.  Her  laugh  dropped 
a  note.  She  looked  at  the  adoring  faces. 

"  That's  just  what  I  mean,"  she  said.     "  If  she  is " 

«  What  ? " 

"I'll  stay." 

And  that  also  her  stepfather  would  have  described  as 
"just  like  Louie." 


RAINHAM   PARVA  39 


III 


PUNCTUALLY  at  ten  o'clock  on  the  morrow  Louie  knocked 
at  the  door  of  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith's  office  or  drawing-room 
— it  was  both — and  entered.  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith  was 
writing  at  an  escritoire  that  was  not  big  enough  to  ac- 
commodate her  elbows,  and  so  supported  her  braceleted 
wrists  only.  There  was  something  contradictory  about  her 
attitude.  Its  rectitude  as  she  sat  at  the  inconvenient  little 
desk  suggested  that  she  expected  Louie,  her  turn,  pause  and 
inquiring  "  Well  ?  "  that  she  did  not.  Louie's  observant 
eyes  had  already  noticed  a  curious  inconsistency  about  the 
Lady-in-Charge.  A  great  number  of  things  seemed  to  lie 
on  the  tip  of  her  tongue,  ready,  apparently  against  her  own 
better  judgment,  to  be  detached  from  it  by  a  perfectly-timed 
fillip  of  opposition. 

And  Louie  had  only  to  remember  the  word  or  two  with 
which  she  had  dashed  Chaff's  affability  to  be  fairly  sure  that 
though  cocoa  and  candles  in  the  box-room  at  eleven  o'clock 
at  night  might  seem  a  good  enough  reason  for  the  present 
interview,  as  like  as  not  another  lay  behind  it.  She  stood 
just  within  the  door. 

"  Well,  Miss  Causton  ?  " 

"  I  think  you  told  me  to  come  here  at  ten  o'clock." 

"  Ah,  yes.     Please  to  wait  a  moment." 

Louie  listened  to  the  squeaking  of  her  quill  and  the  faint 
jingling  at  her  wrists  as  she  continued  to  write. 

When  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith  turned  again  it  was  almost  as 
if  she  had  thought  better  of  something  or  other — say  of  an 
encounter  with  this  long-chinned,  grey-eyed  girl  who  stood, 
not  dressed  for  gardening,  but  in  a  long  grey  morning  frock, 
looking  at  her  from  the  door. 

"  I  merely  wished  to  impress  on  you,  Miss  Causton,  that 


40  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

the  Rules  must  be  observed,"  she  said.  "  I  believe  there  is 
a  copy  of  them  on  the  smaller  bureau  by  your  right  hand 
there.  Take  it  and  be  so  good  as  to  study  it.  That  is  all  I 
wished  to  say." 

Louie  did  not  believe  the  last  sentence,  but  no  disbelief 
showed  in  her  eyes.  She  inclined  her  head,  but  watched 
Mrs  Lovenant-Smith,  waiting  for  more.  She  thought  that 
if  she  waited  more  would  come.  It  did.  Mrs  Lovenant- 
Smith,  having  just  dismissed  Louie,  rescinded  the  decision 
by  speaking  again. 

"  You  are  older  than  the  others,"  she  said,  "  and  it  ought 
not  to  be  too  much  to  expect  of  you  that  you  will  set  a  good 
example." 

Louie,  perhaps  gratuitously,  read  a  meaning  into  the 
words.  Perhaps  you  guess  what  it  was.  Many  of  the  older 
people  of  her  world  still  remembered  her  mother's  first 
marriage,  and  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith,  though  Louie  did  not 
like  the  look  of  her,  was  still  undeniably  of  her  world.  With 
Louie  herself  the  drawing-master  theory  of  her  paternity  had 
long  since  gone  by  the  board  ;  the  girl  had  not  rested  until 
she  had  discovered  that  her  father  was  Buck  Causton,  pugilist 
and  artists'  model,  none  other  ;  and  if  Mrs  Lovenant-Sinith 
had  ever  chanced  to  hear  of  her  as  Louise  Chaffinger,  and 
identified  that  person  under  the  name  which  (whether  from 
pride,  spleen,  sensitiveness  or  what  not)  she  had  since  re- 
assumed,  there  would  probably  be  something  very  near  the 
tip  of  her  tongue  indeed.  And  just  as  Buck  had  always  been 
a  pale  fighter,  so  Louie's  own  mixed  blood,  though  it  might 
surge  at  her  heart,  left  her  cheeks  untinged  in  moments  of 
stress.  She  still  stood,  making  no  motion  to  go. 

"  I  don't  think  I  quite  follow  you,"  she  said  slowly.  ' '  Why 
do  you  say  that  something  '  ought  not  to  be  too  much  to 
expect '  ?  " 

Mrs  Lovenant-Smith  stiffened  and  drew  in  again. 


RAINHAM   PARVA  41 

"  It  is  not  necessary  to  follow  me,"  she  said.  "  You  will 
find  all  that  is  necessary  in  the  Eules.  You  may  keep  that 
copy  ;  Eule  6  is  the  one  I  wish  especially  to  call  your  atten- 
tion to.  Would  you  be  so  good  as  to  pass  me  that  bell  as 
you  go  out — the  small  brass  one  on  the  cabinet  there  ?  " 

She  half  turned  to  her  writing  again. 

("  Good  gracious,  what  next !  "   thought  Louie.) 

The  bell  was  a  small  Dutch  figure  in  a  metal  farthingale, 
and  Louie  passed  it.  As  she  did  so  she  glanced  at  the  hand 
that  took  it.  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith's  face  was  wrinkled  like 
a  dried  apple,  and  the  hand,  though  beautifully  kept,  was 
wrinkled  too,  and  had,  moreover,  rather  stumpy  nails. 
Louie's  own  hands  were  exquisite.  The  bell  passed  from 
hand  to  hand. 

Whether  or  not  it  was  the  glance  at  the  hands,  suddenly 
the  word  too  much  dropped  from  the  tip  of  Mrs  Lovenant- 
Smith's  tongue.  She  put  the  bell  down  with  a  little  clap. 

"  The  Eules  of  the  college  are  not  called  into  question," 
she  said.  "  So  far  they  have  proved  quite  sufficient  for 
the  kind  of  student  the  college  was  founded  for.  By  the 
way,  why  are  you  not  dressed  for  the  gardens  ?  " 

("  '  Kind  of  student ' — good — gracious  !  "  Louie  cried  in 
astonishment  to  herself.  "  Very  well,  madam ") 

She  spoke  calmly,  looking  modestly  down  at  her  long 
cashmere  skirt,  but  taking  in  her  lovely  hands  (which  toyed 
with  the  copy  of  the  Eules)  on  the  way. 

"  My  dress  ?  "  she  said.  "  Oh,  I  wasn't  sure  whether  I 
should  be  staying  or  not." 

Louie  knew  perfectly  well  that  her  leaving  would  make, 
at  any  rate  until  her  cubicle  should  be  filled  again,  a  differ- 
ence of  something  like  sixty  pounds  a  year,  with  extras,  to 
Chesson's.  That  is  rather  a  lot  of  money  to  hang  upon  a 
mere  breach  of  Eule  6.  Perhaps  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith  be- 
trayed herself  in  the  quickness  with  which  she  took  her  up. 


42  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

"  Do  you  mean  you're  thinking  of  leaving  ?  "  she 
asked. 

Louie,  who  had  lifted  her  eyes  for  a  moment,  dropped 
them  demurely  again. 

"  I  mean,"  she  replied,  "  that  I  didn't  know  whether  you 
were  going  to  dismiss  me  or  not.  You  see,  you  may  not 
want  my — kind  of  student.  I'd  rather  not  be  in  any  way 
considered  as  an  exception,"  she  added. 

Had  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith  known  Louie  better  she  would 
have  known  that  she  had  now  no  intention  whatever  of 
leaving.  As  it  was,  there  probably  came  into  her  head  the 
thought  that  after  all  Louie  was  a  Scarisbrick  and  a  niece  of 
Lord  Moone.  Ladies-in-charge  of  horticultural  colleges  do 
not  fall  foul  of  the  Honourable  Emily  and  Lord  Moone. 
All  at  once  her  severity  relaxed — but  she  hated  Louie 
thenceforward  that  it  must  be  so.  She  smiled  a  little,  but 
the  smile  had  a  twitch  in  it. 

"  I  don't  think  we  need  go  quite  to  that  extreme,  Miss 
Causton,"  she  said.  "  All  the  same,  I'm  afraid  the  Rules 
are  necessary." 

"  I  dare  say,"  said  Louie. 

"And  so  long  as  that  is  understood,  that  is  the  chief 
thing.  In  regard  to  candles  in  particular,  in  an  old  place 
like  this  there  is  always  the  danger  of  fire.  In  fact,  I'm  not 
at  all  sure  that  a  fire  drill  ought  not  to  be  instituted.  May 
I  add  that  I  quite  appreciated  the  chivalrous  way  in  which 
you  tried  to  shield  Miss  Earle  last  night  ?  Indeed,  I  wanted 
to  say  that  quite  as  much  as  the  other.  I  think  that  is  all. 
Good-morning,  Miss  Causton." 

"  Good-morning,"  said  Louie,  stalking  out. 

As  she  crossed  the  Restoration  hall,  "  '  Kind  of  student ' 
—good  gracious !  "  she  exclaimed  again.  "  To  talk  to  me 
as  if  I  were  Burnett  Minor  !  '  Kind  of  student !  '—I  wonder 
it  doesn't  occur  to  her  that  somebody  might  have  told  me 


RAINHAM   PARVA  48 

all  about  Miss  Hastings  and  that  gardener  four  years  ago  ! 
— '  Kind  of  student,'  indeed  !  " 

Still  without  changing  her  clothes,  she  walked  out  past 
the  orchards,  up  the  hill,  and  sat  looking  down  over  the 
coombes  to  the  sea. 

Leave  Chesson's,  now  ?  Oh  no,  nothing  was  farther  from 
her  thoughts  !  She  would  stay,  and  why  ?  Not  because 
she  had  been  treated  as  a  junior,. but  because  she  had  been 
taken,  as  it  were,  at  her  own  word.  She  herself  might  be 
perversely  and  nonchalantly  cynical  about  her  mixed  birth, 
but  she  did  not  intend  to  allow  anybody  else — Mrs  Lovenant- 
Smith  or  anybody — to  show  as  much  as  a  nicker  of  conscious- 
ness of  it.  "  Kind  of  student  "  ! — Oh  no,  that  amusement 
was  going  to  be  Louie's  own  private  preserve. 

For  it  had  been  her  cynical  amusement.  Approximately, 
the  mood  took  her  once  in  five  or  six  months,  with  or  without 
occasion.  Her  mother  knew  its  times  and  seasons,  and  its 
passings  into  abeyance,  not  into  extinction.  She  did  not 
call  her  sensitiveness  morbid  ;  quite  on  the  contrary,  she 
saw  to  it  that  it  took  the  form  of  a  pose  of  gaiety  ;  she  could 
be  pitilessly  gay  with  herself.  Meek,  harmless  Cynthia 
Scarisbrick,  for  example,  could  have  told  tales  about  her 
gaiety  when,  not  knowing  whether  she  herself  was  eligible 
for  presentation  or  not  (but  gathering  from  the  tense  silence 
on  the  subject  that  had  reigned  at  Trant  that  she  was  not, 
or  at  any  rate  that  her  mother  did  not  wish  it),  she  had 
practised  the  ceremonial  curtsy  with  her  cousin.  It  had 
been  Cynthia,  not  Louie,  who  had  shed  the  tears. 

But  to  be  agreed  with  by  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith  that  her 
origin  was  open  to  question  (for  the  Lady-in-Charge  had 
all  but  said  that) — oh  no,  that  was  really  too  much  ! 

Mrs  Lovenant-Smith,  who  took  a  seedsman's  salary  ! 

She  might  have  known  that  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith  would 
know  all,  all  about  her 


44  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

Then,  aB  she  sat,  she  began  to  wonder  where  she  had  heard 
the  name  of  Lovenant-Smith  before.  She  had  wondered  it 
when  first  she  had  received  her  prospectus  at  Trant.  Of 
course  her  stepfather  knew  these  other  Lovenant-Smiths, 
the  adjutant's  lot,  and  had  probably  spoken  of  them,  but 
she  did  not  think  it  was  that.  For  a  minute  or  two  she 
sought  in  her  memory.  .  .  . 

She  was  ceasing  to  think  when  the  recollection  came  of 
itself.  It  was  only  a  trifling  one  after  all.  One  of  the  boys 
with  whom  she  had  romped  at  Mallard  Bois — Roy  she 
had  called  him  then — had  been,  she  now  remembered,  a 
Lovenant-Smith.  He  would  be  a  connection  of  the  ad- 
jutant's. Of  course,  she  had  heard  the  name  at  Mallard 
Bois.  .  .  . 

Then  Louie  bit  her  lip.  If  there  had  been  any  doubt  at  all 
that  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith  knew  the  story  of  Buck  there  was 
none  now.  The  association  with  Mallard  Bois  was  quite 
enough.  .  .  . 

Louie  was  glad  she  had  looked  insolently  at  those  stumpy 
hands.  .  .  . 

Beast ! 

The  trees  below  her  tossed  restlessly,  and  far  out  the  grey 
sea  was  whitecapped  as  if  it  had  been  rasped  with  a  file. 
No  boat  had  put  out  for  the  pollock-fishing  or  to  lift  a 
spiller  that  morning  ;  only  a  pilot,  a  couple  of  miles  out  in 
the  Channel,  slowly  lifted  her  nose  for  a  moment  and  then 
hid  it  again.  Louie  felt  a  little  cold,  and  rose.  She  made 
an  attractive  picture  as  she  did  so.  Her  brown  hair  was 
tossed  by  the  wind,  and  her  long  grey  skirt  cracked  behind 
her  and  clipped  her  limbs  almost  as  if  she  had  worn  the 
garments  of  a  man. 

"  Beast !  "  she  muttered  again. 

Then  she  thought  of  another  beast — this  father  of  hers 
whose  name  she  had  not  needed  to  take  but  had  taken  out 


RAINHAM   PARVA  45 

of  rancour  against  her  mother  and  despite  against  herself. 
(But  not  for  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith  to  turn  up  her  nose  at !) 
He  now  (she  had  this  from  Chaff)  kept  a  public-house  some- 
where up  the  Thames — Lord  Moone's  cast-ofi  brother-in- 
law  in  a  public-house  ! — and  any  fitful  romantic  light  that 
might  ever  have  shone  about  him  was  now  extinguished. 
Of  course  the  Captain  had  uttered  his  usual  wistful  formula  : 
"  Not  a  bad  fellow  at  all,  I  should  have  said  "  ;  but  that 
was  rather  a  criticism  on  the  Captain  than  on  Buck.  Yes. 
Buck  was  simply  another  beast.  But  though  he  were  a 
potman,  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith  should  give  him  every  bit  as 
much  deference  as  if  he  had  been  a  brewing  peer.  .  .  . 

"  And  I  don't  care — if  it  is  the  pride  of  the  cobbler's 
dog,  I'm  going  to  keep  his  name,"  Louie  muttered. 

Suddenly  she  turned  and  climbed  the  stile  that  led  back 
to  Chesson's  land.  As  she  did  so  she  realised  that  she  had 
been  out  of  bounds.  She  laughed  curtly.  Rule  3  !  Much 
she  cared  for  their  Rules  !  What  about  the  Rule  :  "  Miss 
Hastings  does  not  elope  with  What's-his-Name  the  gar- 
dener "  ? — but  that  would  keep.  In  the  meantime  she 
would  change  into  her  gardening  clothes  before  lunch.  She 
had  shown  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith  that  she  had  garments  of 
freedom.  The  next  time  Louie  threatened  to  leave  she 
might  be  able  to  add  to  the  force  of  the  threat  that  she 
would  take  half-a-dozen  girls  with  her. 

Well,  lunch  was  in  half-an-hour ;  she  had  just  time  to 
change. 

But  as  she  descended  through  the  orchards  again  she 
came  upon  Richenda  Earle.  The  copper-haired  girl  was 
washing  an  espaliered  plum-tree,  and  as  she  turned  her 
head  Louie  saw  that  she  had  been  crying.  She  asked  Louie 
if  she  was  going. 

"  Leaving  here,  do  you  mean  ?  No.  What's  the 
matter  «  " 


46  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

The  girl  turned  her  eyes  away. 

"  Thanks  awfully  for  last  night,"  she  granted.  "  It 
was  ripping  of  you.  But  you  see  it  hasn't  made  much 
difference." 

"  How,  not  made  much  difference  ?  " 

Richenda  glanced  at  the  tree,  and  from  the  tree  to  the 
syringe  in  her  hand  and  the  pail  of  disinfectant  at  her  feet. 
"  This,"  she  said.  "  Anybody  can  do  this  job,  and  I've 
been  sorting  out  pots  over  there  all  the  morning,"  she  indi- 
cated the  yard  behind  the  trees  where  the  flower-pots  and 
debris  were  kept.  "  And  /  can't  threaten  to  leave." 

"  Your  scholarship,  of  course  ?  " 

"  Yes.    And  I'm  supposed  to  be  working  for  the  medal." 

Ghesson's  wanted  a  Horticultural  Society's  medal  badly. 
They  had  never  had  one,  nor  were  likely  to  get  one  unless 
Richenda  Barle  got  it  for  them.  Louie,  who  was  quickly 
fathoming  the  real  economy  of  the  place,  looked  again  at 
Richenda's  red  eyes. 

"  Well,  they  won't  send  you  away  till  you've  failed,"  she 
said. 

But  Earle  made  an  impatient  gesture,  and  her  eyes  began 
to  stream  again. 

"  Oh,  what's  a  girl  like  you  know  about  it !  "  she  broke 
out.  "  Yes,  I  know  they'll  keep  me  till  then,  but  you  don't 
know  anything  at  all  about  it !  You  would  if  you'd  had  my 
upbringing  !  You  don't  know  what  the  struggle  is.  You 
think  digging  and  carrying  pots  is  hard  work  ;  you  wouldn't 
if  you'd  seen  what  I've  seen  !  When  you  go  to  London  it's 
just  shopping  and  theatres  and  suppers  and  things ;  but 
just  you  try  to  keep  a  small  bookseller's  accounts  for  him, 
when  they're  hardly  worth  keeping,  I  mean,  and  collecting 
his  debts  when  all  his  money's  tied  up  in  stock  and  your 
father's  nearly  bankrupt — not  that  he's  ever  solvent — you'd 
know  what  I  meant  then  !  " 


RAINHAM   PARVA  47 

Then  the  unexpected  outbreak  stopped  suddenly. 
Louie  stood  silently  staring.  She  disliked  seeing  any- 
body cry.  Richenda's  words  had  little  meaning  for  her ; 
she  supposed  they  contained  a  hidden  meaning  somewhere. 
Then  the  copper-haired  girl  went  on,  more  quietly  but  no 
less  bitterly : 

"  I  should  get  a  hundred  pounds  a  year  on  the  staff  here," 
she  said,  "  that  is,  if  they  won't  waste  me  half -days  just  out 
of  spite,  like  they're  doing  this  morning.  That's  nothing  to 
you.  You  others  are  here  just  for  pocket-money,  but  we 
live  on  your  pocket-money.  I  suppose  I  oughtn't  to  have 
come  here  at  all.  Not  among  all  you.  But  I  begged  father 
to  let  me.  Father  once  apologised  to  me — that  was  when 
there  was  a  distraint  out  against  him,  if  you  know  what 
that  is — because  he  wasn't  rich.  Fathers  ought  all  to  be 
rich,  he  said.  There  are  seven  of  us  girls  at  home,  and  only 
one  married.  Oh,  I  tell  you,  you  don't  know  !  " 

Louie  wondered  why  she  preferred  Richenda  Earle  loud 
and  striving  for  the  popularity  she  never  got  to  Richenda 
Earle  unburdening  herself  thus.  She  herself  went  brightly 
masked,  and  disliked  to  see  another's  mind  naked.  Rich- 
enda's mind  was  stripped  now.  If  was  distasteful.  Some- 
how or  other  Richenda  contrived  to  miss  both  the  balm  of 
popularity  and  the  solace  of  private  sympathy. 

"  I'm — I'm  awfully  sorry,"  Louie  said  awkwardly  and  a 
little  stiffly. 

At  the  tone  Richenda  drew  in  instantly. 

"  It  doesn't  matter,"  she  said,  compressing  her  lips  and 
beginning  to  straighten  her  hair.  "  I  shall  just  have  to 
buck  up,  that's  all.  But  girls  of  your  class  don't  know  any- 
thing about  it,  so  you  needn't  think  you  do.  There's  the 
first  gong.  Come  on." 

As  they  passed  the  dairies  a  rabble  of  students  raced  past 
the  end  of  the  house  on  their  way  to  the  boot-lockers.  Louie 


48  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

and  Richenda  entered  by  the  side  door.  Richenda  plunged 
at  once  into  the  scramble  for  house-slippers,  but  Louie,  not 
having  put  on  her  garden  boots  that  day,  did  not  need  to 
change.  It  was  too  late  now  to  put  on  another  dress.  She 
waited  by  the  inner  door. 

x  Suddenly  she  was  spied  by  Burnett  Minor.     The  child 
rushed  towards  her,  a  book  in  her  hand. 

"  Are  you  going,  Gauston  ?  "  she  shouted. 

There  was  a  loud  "  Ssssh  !  "  They  could  be  heard  from 
the  dining-room.  The  girls  flocked  round  Louie,  and  hoarse, 
excited  whispers  broke  out : 

"  Are  you  going  ?  " 

"  She's  dressed  !  " 

"  Are  you  going  ?  " 

"  Did  you  see  her  ?  " 

"  Does  Causton  say  she's  going  ?  " 

"  Ssssh — not  all  at  once  ! " 

"  No,  I'm  not  going,"  said  Louie. 

Mouths  gaped  their  very  widest  to  make  up  for  the  in- 
audibility of  the  cheers. 

"Hooray!" 

"  Is  she  going  ?  " 

"  No,  she's  not  going — hooray  !  "   . 

Burnett  Minor  threw  her  book  joyfully  into  the  book- 
locker.  Ordinarily  her  reading  varied  between  an  adoration 
of  Tennyson  and  mocking  and  dramatic  declamations  either 
from  the  "  Pansy  Library,"  or  from  its  brother- classics,  of 
which  the  typical  burlesque  is  "  The  Bloodstained  Putty- 
knife,  or  The  Plumber's  Revenge."  But  this  book  was  her 
album. 

"  I  saw  you  come  down  dressed,  and  I  did  want  you  to 
put  something  in  it  if  you  were  going,"  she  whispered  glee- 
fully ;  "  but  you're  not  going  !  Hoo " 

Her  voiceless  mouth  gaped  wider  than  them  all. 


RAINHAM    PARVA  49 

That  midday  Louie  walked  demurely  up  to  Mrs  Lovenant- 
Smith  at  the  head  of  the  table  and  apologised  for  not  yet 
having  changed.  From  her  tone  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith  may 
or  may  not  have  inferred  that  she  had  spent  the  hours  since 
their  interview  in  contrite  meditation.  She  inclined  her 
head  graciously.  But  Louie,  taking  her  place  for  grace 
between  Burnett  Minor  and  Richenda  Earle,  was  murmuring 
to  herself  once  more  : 

"  '  Class  of  student,'  indeed  ! . . .  Good  gracious  me  ! .  . ." 


IV 

LOUIE   quickly   became  the    most    popular    girl    in    the 
college. 

Her  studies  she  pursued  very  much  as  who  should  say : 
"  I  am  Louie  Causton — take  it  or  leave  it."  Neither  Miss 
Harriet  nor  the  gardeners  could  ever  tell  when  she  was 
interested  in  a  lesson  ;  if  she  learned,  she  concealed  her 
processes.  Before  April  was  out — (the  intervening  time 
may  be  slipped  over ;  the  daily  work  in  the  gardens  and 
houses  went  on  as  usual,  the  usual  number  of  crates  and 
parcels  was  despatched  from  Rainham  Magna  station,  and 
already  the  girls  were  looking  forward  to  June,  which  was 
always  a  slack  month) — before  April  was  out  she  could 
"  slip  "  and  "  bud  "  as  deftly  as  any  when  she  chose  ;  but 
few  made  more  mistakes  than  she,  and  none  accepted 
correction  with  her  remarkable  nonchalance.  Afternoon 
"  theory  "  she  had  begun  to  cut  almost  entirely.  A  slate 
hung  in  the  hall,  on  which  students  were  supposed  to  write 
down  where  they  might  be  found  when  they  left  the  imme- 
diate precincts  of  the  college.  One  day  towards  the  end 
of  April  there  appeared  on  this  slate  :  "  Gone  to  Rainham  ; 
D 


50  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

L.  Causton."    Then  she  awaited  events  with  Mrs  Lovenant- 
Smith. 

There  were  no  events. 

She  sent  to  Trant  for  a  bicycle. 

Truth  to  tell,  as  the  spring  advanced  she  needed  the  air. 
The  glass-houses,  with  their  smell  of  musk  and  mould  and 
heated  pipes  and  cherry-pie  all  mingled,  oppressed  her ; 
the  long  forcing-house,  where  for  the  time  being  most  of 
the  work  for  the  markets  went  on,  completely  took  the 
starch  out  of  her.  She  felt  as  if  she  was  being  forced  her- 
self. She  hated  the  sight  of  the  twelve  houses  ;  they  merely 
meant  so  much  ventilation,  so  much  shutting-down  for  the 
evenings,  so  much  watering,  so  much  lassitude  for  the  girls, 
so  much  money  in  Chesson's  pocket.  She  was  glad  she  had 
sent  for  the  bicycle.  Somebody  else  might  read  thermo- 
meters and  close  down  and  sprinkle  floors  and  ply  the  hissing 
hoses.  Louie  wanted  air. 

Yet  even  the  outer  air  was  not  sharp  enough.  It  is  not 
an  invigorating  air  in  which  the  lemon-verbena  grows  in 
trees  up  the  cottage  walls  and  scented  geranium  flourishes 
out-of-doors  like  a  common  hedge  plant.  In  the  sunken 
lanes  through  which  she  idled  on  her  bicycle  the  primroses, 
twice  as  big  as  she  had  ever  seen  them,  and  the  cowslips, 
great  sub-tropical  clusters,  were  already  past ;  and  she  ex- 
pected to  see  the  roses  out  presently,  big  as  sunflowers. 
There  was  something  almost  rank  in  the  sweet  bursting  out 
of  the  land.  She  thanked  goodness  that  a  daisy  was  a  daisy 
still,  modest  and  unmagnified.  She  was  not  used  to  hedges 
of  fuchsia.  Nature  might  have  been  a  little  more  sparing 
of  her  myrtle  too.  Louie  always  dropped  from  her  bicycle 
when,  coming  out  of  one  of  the  canals  of  still  and  scented 
air,  she  saw,  across  a  burnt  heath-patch  or  a  clump  of  hardy 
gorse,  a  glimpse  of  the  sea.  For  the  sake  of  a  look  at  the  sea 
she  often  walked  up  the  hill  behind  Chesson's  and  sat  on  the 


RAINHAM   PARVA  51 

stile  she  had  crossed  on  the  morning  after  her  interview  with 
Mrs  Lovenant-Smith. 

Except  by  her  example,  however,  she  incited  nobody  else 
to  break  the  Eules. 

It  was  curious  that  she  should  know  herself  to  be  popular, 
and  yet  at  the  same  time  should  also  be  secretly  aware  that 
she  was  a  little  out  of  things.  All  went  well  enough  for  the 
present,  but  only  for  the  present.  She  knew  quite  well  what 
would  happen  did  she,  a  year  or  two  hence,  chance  to  meet 
any  of  her  present  fellow-pupils.  She  would  not,  then,  be 
older  than  they  in  quite  the  same  sense  that  she  was  now. 
They  would  meet ;  there  would  be  eager  recollections  of  the 
old  days  at  Chesson's  ;  oh,  for  that  matter  she  could  make 
it  all  up  now  !  .  .  .  "  Come  where  we  can  have  a  really  good 
talk  !  Where's  Burnett  Major  now,  and  her  sister  ?  And 
have  you  heard  from  Elwell  lately  ?  And  I  wonder  what's 
become  of  that  red-haired  girl — what  was  her  name — Earle 
— yes,  Earle  ?  And  of  course  you  know  Macfarlane's  going 
to  be  married. . . .  Now  tell  me  all  about  what  you're  doing ! " 
...  Oh  yes,  Louie  could  make  all  this  up — the  bursts,  the 
pauses,  the  dead  stops,  and  then  the  falsely  bright,  per- 
functory talk  about  Chesson's  again.  For  she  and  her 
fellow-students  would  not  be  doing  the  same  things.  They 
would  have  taken  recognised  places,  and  Louie  was  not  sure 
that  she  herself  had  a  place  to  take.  Her  father  and  mother 
had  seen  to  that.  She  remained  a  spectator.  If  she  was 
liked  now,  it  was  not  because  she  went  one  inch  out  of  her 
way  to  be  so.  She  was  just  as  ready  to  go  out  of  her  way 
to  be  disliked  if  she  must  go  out  of  it  at  all. 

In  the  meantime,  however,  here  she  was  at  Chesson's,  to 
all  intents  and  purposes  her  own  mistress,  and  made  so 
much  of  that  she  had  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith  largely  at  her 
mercy — for,  had  she  been  requested  to  leave,  the  two  Bur- 
netts, Elwell  and  others  would  now  have  left  with  her.  So, 


52  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

doing  exactly  as  she  liked,  and  adored  on  every  hand,  Louie 
even  wondered  sometimes  whether  she  had  not  been  wrong 
in  supposing  that  restlessness  and  discontent  were  bred  in 
the  very  bones  of  her. 

She  was  at  the  very  top  of  her  popularity  about  the  time 
Burnett  Major  gave  the  birthday  "  cocoa  "  in  her  cubicle. 
(That  is  to  say,  Burnett  Major  gave  the  nucleus  of  the 
"  cocoa  "  ;  the  rest  of  the  party  happened  by  a  natural 
process  of  accretion.)  This  time  the  junketing  was  held  by 
Mrs  Lovenant-Smith's  permission ;  it  had  been  acceded 
readily.  "  Lovey's  not  such  a  bad  old  sort  when  you  get 
used  to  her,"  B.  Major  said.  It  was  in  mid-May,  on  a  hot 
evening,  and,  though  Burnett's  window  was  flung  wide  open, 
showing  the  dark  yew  outside,  not  a  breath  stirred,  and  the 
flames  of  the  candles  were  four  inches  long  in  the  air.  Besides 
cocoa,  Burnett  had  provided  cake  and  biscuits  and  candied 
fruits  and  an  enormous  box  of  "  assorted  "  chocolates  ;  and 
Burnett's  bed  was  like  to  break  down  with  the  weight  of  girls 
upon  it. 

Louie  had  had  Burnett  Major  especially  in  her  mind  when 
she  had  painted  her  fancy  picture  of  a  possible  meeting  with 
her  fellow-students  a  year  or  two  hence.  The  two  sisters 
were  the  daughters  of  a  Gloucestershire  M.F.H.,  and  Louie 
could  forgive  B.  Major  for  being  a  little  dazzled  by  her 
approaching  presentation.  There  was  nothing  unfamiliar 
to  Louie,  either,  in  the  rest  of  the  things  she  felt  herself,  at 
one  and  the  same  time,  both  "  in  at "  and  "  out  of,"  for 
probably  Mewley  Hall,  the  Burnetts'  home,  was  not  very 
different  from  Trant  or  Mallard  Bois.  But  Burnett  Major's 
position  a  few  years  hence  was  a  forgone  conclusion  ;  she 
filled  it  already  in  anticipation  ;  and  the  noisy  talk  that  was 
in  progress  as  Louie  joined  the  party  threw  bright  lights  on  it. 
They  were  discussing  the  coming  vacations.  These  were 
Ohesson's  yearly  dread.  They  interrupted  his  supply  of 


RATNHAM   PARVA  58 

free  labour,  and  there  were  always  fewest  girls  when  he  most 
wanted  them.  As  the  vacation  arrangements  rested  after 
all  chiefly  with  the  parents,  he  could  do  little  except  express 
his  preference  that  as  many  of  the  girls  as  possible  should 
take  their  holidays  in  the  empty  month  of  June,  and  his 
hope  that  those  who  did  not  do  so  would  defer  them  until 
as  late  as  they  could.  Otherwise  he  was,  to  that  extent,  no 
better  off  than  his  trade  competitors. 

"  Here  she  comes,"  Burnett  Minor  was  crying  as  Louie 
entered  the  crowded  cubicle.  "  I  want  to  be  here  when 
Causton  is.  It's  all  right  for  Major — oh,  you  needn't  think 
we  don't  know,  Major — if  you  aren't  actually  engaged  he's 
always  about  the  place  when  you're  at  home — and  I'm  going 
to  stalk  you  both  with  a  camera  and  then  what-d'you-call-it 
— blackmail  him " 

"  Shut  up,  Minor,  or  I  shall  send  you  out,"  B.  Major 
ordered. 

"  Then  I  shall  tell  everybody  who  he  is  and  shout  bis  name 

through  the  keyhole.  It's "  She  moved  her  lips, 

threatening  to  pronounce  the  name  there  and  then. 

"  Sneak  !  "  said  her  sister. 

B.  Minor  bridled. 

"  I  will  tell  them  if  you  call  me  that  again  !  Causton, 
have  you  a  young  man  ?  (That  means,  Avez-voo  un  jeune 
homme,  Pig  ?)" 

"  Not  for  you  to  shout  his  name  through  keyholes,"  Louie 
replied,  smiling. 

"  No,  but  do  tell  us — have  you  ?  "4 

"  At  my  age  ?  "  said  Louie  mockingly,  sitting  down  on 
the  edge  of  the  bedfand  reaching  for  candied  fruits. 

"  Go  on — you're  trying  to  wriggle  out  of  it — have  you  ?  " 

"  Hush,  little  girl — open  your  mouth "  She  popped 

a  fruit  into  the  mouth  that  itself  resembled  an  untouched 
fruit. 


54  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

Pigou,  from  the  lower  deck  of  the  washstand,  interposed 
loudly : 

"  Elle  a  vingt-quart'ans — elle  est  perdue  !  " 

"  Uppe  petite  chose,  avec  voter  Francay,"  commented 
Burnett  Minor. 

"  Cau-ston  coiffe  deja  Sainte  Catherine,"  said  the  ruthless 
Pigou  :  "  a  vingt-quatr'ans  on  est  deja — pff  !  " 

"  Non  elle  isn't  pfE— rude  chose  !  But  she'll  tell  me  when 
we  sleep  out,  because  I'm  going  to  have  my  mattress  next  to 
hers,  sha'n't  I,  Causton  ?  " 

"  Mais  elle  vient  d'promettre " 

"  — and  we  shall  talk  about  all  those  things  you  always 
say  '  Hush '  when  I  come  in — sha'n't  we,  Causton  ?  " 

"  Prrridd-ee ! "  taunted  the  French  child :  and  B. 
Major  spoke. 

"  But  I  say,  Causton,  when  do  you  take  your  vac. — June 
or  September  ?  " 

"  And  where  shall  you  go  ?  "  somebody  else  demanded. 

"  I'm  going  to  Ireland — father's  taken  a  house," 
cried  a  third. 

"  Nobody  cares  where  you're  going !  Causton,  will  you 
come  home  with  us  ?  " 

"  No  ;  come  to  Ireland  with  us !  " 

"  Well,  can  I  come  home  with  you  ?  I  loved  that  man 
who  brought  you  here !  "  (Burnett  Minor  was  the  young 
woman  who  had  loved  Chaff.) 

"  It  wasn't  Lord  Moone,  was  it  ?  "  Macfarlane  asked. 

"  Or  was  it  your  father  ?  " 

"  Your  cocoa,  Causton,"  said  B.  Major. 

Louie  had  never  been  so  run  after  before.  She  curled  up 
among  the  slippered  feet  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  (there  were 
four  girls  stretched  upon  it),  and  alternately  stroked  the  hair 
and  tweaked  the  ears  of  Burnett  Minor,  who  had  defeated 
Pigou  in  the  scramble  to  put  her  head  into  Louie's  lap.  "  I 


RAINHAM   PARVA  55 

can  have  the  pitch  next  to  yours,  can't  I  ?  "  the  child  de- 
manded, her  eyes  turned  up  and  her  face  (to  Louie)  upside 
down.  "  There,  you  see,  Pig,  she  says  I  can — so  voo  juste 
pouvez  sechey-up,  la." 

This  sleeping  out  was  a  summer  custom  at  Chesson's.  It 
began  with  the  warm  weather,  sometimes  in  June,  sometimes 
in  July.  On  account  of  the  morning  and  evening  carrying 
of  bedding  and  mattresses,  the  "pitches"  nearest  the  house 
were  deemed  the  most  desirable,  and  weeks  ahead  there  was 
bickering  about  the  "  bagging  "  of  them.  They  bickered 
now,  and  then  turned  to  the  vacations  again. 

Louie  listened,  saying  little.  For  her,  vacations  in  this 
sense  hardly  existed.  Vacations  lose  their  value  when  you 
study  as  slackly  as  Louie  did.  It  might  be  amusing  to  go 
home  with  one  or  other  of  the  girls  for  a  week  or  two,  but  on 
the  other  hand  she  hardly  thought  she  would.  These  were 
the  things  she  was  both  "  in  at "  and  "  out  of."  B.  Major 
was  talking  about  them  now.  Soon  she  would  be  taking 
her  presentation  lessons  ;  she  was  coming  out ;  she  had  an 
unofficial  admirer ;  yes,  Louie  saw  quite  plainly  what  B. 
Major's  future  would  be.  What  was  her  own  going  to  be  ? 
She  had  not  the  least  idea.  .  .  .  No,  she  did  not  really  want 
a  vacation.  More  or  fewer,  there  would  be  girls  at  Ghesson's 
throughout  the  summer.  Ghesson's  still  amused  her  ;  she 
could  leave  once  for  all  when  it  ceased  to  amuse  her.  She 
was  learning  nothing.  She  neither  wished  to  start  a 
lavender  farm,  as  Elwell,  the  daughter  of  Sir  James  Elwell 
of  the  Treasury,  did,  nor  to  grow  peaches,  as  did  Macfarlane, 
nor  to  add  to  her  pocket-money  by  selling  pot-pourri  at 
extravagant  prices  to  her  friends,  which  was  Burnett  Major's 
idea — until  she  should  marry.  She  could  hardly  sell  pot- 
pourri to  her  prize-fighting  father.  She  might  (she  smiled) 
sell  him  hops — she  seemed  to  remember  that  beer  was  made 
of  hops.  .  .  . 


56  THE    STORY    OF    LOUIE 

And  she  certainly  did  not  intend  to  mug  at  theory  for  the 
sake  of  a  medal,  as  Earle  was  doing  at  this  very  moment.  .  .  . 

The  party  was  still  discussing  this  life  which  was  hers  and 
yet  not  hers  when  Miss  Harriet,  going  her  rounds,  tapped  at 
the  door  and  entered. 

"Bedtime,  young  ladies,  please,"  she  said.  "Mrs 
Lovenant-Smith's  compliments,  and  she  hopes  you  have 
enjoyed  yourselves." 

Her  tone  was  that  of  one  who  might  say :  "  You  see,  young 
ladies,  what  liberty  you  have  within  the  Rules ;  isn't  it 
much  pleasanter  all  round  ?  " 

The  party  broke  up. 

The  weeks  passed.  In  June  a  number  of  the  girls  went 
home,  Earle  among  them.  Permission  to  sleep  out  was 
given,  a  little  earlier  than  usual  on  account  of  the  heavy 
mildness  of  the  nights ;  and  Louie  lay  in  the  orchard,  be- 
tween Burnett  Minor  and  little  Pigou.  The  convolvulus 
came  out,  great  white  trumpets  in  the  hedges  ;  the  sea  over 
the  hill  became  of  a  milky  blue  ;  and  there  floated  out  to  it 
dense  tracts  of  odours,  of  lilies,  and  syringa,  jasmine  and  roses 
and  hay.  You  wearied  of  the  smell  of  meadow-sweet ;  in  the 
houses  you  could  hardly  take  breath.  The  sun  was  reflected 
piercingly  from  their  glass  roofs,  and  the  girls  spent  the  after- 
noons in  deck-chairs  under  the  shadow  of  the  courtyard  yew. 

The  thing  that  (Louie  sometimes  told  herself  afterwards) 
made  all  the  difference  and  yet  (as  she  also  sometimes  told 
herself)  made  no  difference  at  all,  began  very  trivially.  It 
was  just  such  another  accident  as  that  which,  nine  or  ten 
years  before,  had  sent  her  to  her  mother  with  a  demand  to 
be  told  "  who  the  Honourable  Mrs  Causton  was." 

Ordinarily,  the  girls  at  Chesson's  were  a  little  careless 
about  the  dressing  of  their  hair.  You  cannot  move  con- 
stantly among  banks  of  plants,  and  pick  fruit,  and  net  cherry- 


RAINHAM   PARVA  57 

trees,  and  be  for  ever  stooping  over  beds  and  frames,  and  keep 
your  hair  fit  to  be  seen.  Therefore,  once  a  month  or  so,  the 
girls  might,  if  they  wished,  go  in  parties  of  four  or  five  to  a 
hairdresser's  at  Rainham,  there  to  be  professionally — what- 
ever the  word  may  be.  These  parties  were  made  up  more 
with  a  view  to  the  enjoyment  of  the  half -holiday  than  to  the 
business  strictly  in  hand  ;  and  Louie,  had  she  cared,  might 
have  been  a  member  of  each  detachment  that  went.  On  this 
particular  day  Louie  had  had  much  ado  to  free  herself  from 
Burnett  Minor's  affectionate  clutch. 

"  Oh,  do  come  with  our  lot,  Causton  !  "  B.  Minor  had 
begged.  "  Oh,  you  are  rotten  !  You  know  you  went  with 
Elwell  before,  and  with  Major  before  that,  and  I  do  want 
mine  properly  done  like  yours,  not  just  punched  up  the  way 
we  do  it !  " 

"  What,  like  Saint  Catherine  ?  "    Louie  laughed. 

"  Do  come." 

But  Louie  had  shaken  her  off . 

"  He'll  remember  how  mine's  done  ;  I  was  there  a  week 
ago.  No,  I  won't  come.  I'm  going  to  do  some  theory  this 
afternoon." 

"  Oh,  what  a  fib  !     You  never  do  theory  !  " 

"  Well,  I  ought  to.    No,  I  won't  come." 

"  Then  will  you  lend  me  your  bicycle  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  you  like ;  but  the  others  are  walking,  aren't 
they  ?  " 

"  Well,  I'll  wobble  with  them." 

And  Louie  had  watched  the  party  set  out,  Burnett  Minor 
on  the  bicycle,  "  wobbling  "  and  leaving  behind  her  a  com- 
plicated track  in  the  dust  of  the  drive. 

She  did  not  know  why  she  had  said  she  would  do  theory 
that  afternoon.  She  supposed  it  was  because  she  felt  slack 
and  bored.  Nor  did  she  do  very  much  theory.  She  went 
into  the  classroom,  languidly  turned  over  the  pages  of  an 


58  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

old  "  Balfour,"  wondered  what  it  mattered  to  anybody  at 
Chesson's  (except  perhaps  to  Earle)  that  "  movements  had 
been  observed  in  the  pollen-grains  of  Cereus  Speciosissimus," 
or  that  "  changes  took  place  in  the  stamens  by  suppression 
and  degenerations  of  various  kinds."  Then  she  glanced  at  a 
preparation  on  the  stage  of  the  microscope  opposite  Richenda 
Earle's  empty  chair,  and  yawned.  She  looked  out  into  the 
courtyard.  Three  or  four  girls  dozed  in  deck-chairs  under 
the  dark  yew.  There  was  an  empty  chair — but  no  ;  a 
clatter  of  washing  up  was  going  on  in  the  kitchen  under  the 
box-room  ;  she  would  go  up  to  her  cubicle. 

She  did  so,  and,  pushing  of!  her  slippers,  lay  down  on  her 
bed. 

Her  window  was  open  as  far  as  it  would  go,  but  the  yew 
seemed  to  shut  out  even  what  little  air  there  was.  All  that 
entered  was  the  faint  acrid  smell  of  consuming  rubbish  ; 
they  were  slow-burning  somewhere  at  the  back.  The  sounds 
of  the  washing  up  were  fainter  now  ;  a  pigeon  alighted  on 
her  sill.  She  had  been  an  idiot,  she  told  herself,  to  fag  her- 
self that  morning  listening  to  Hall's  demonstration  in  the 
forcing-house.  She  wished  there  was  a  pond  about  the  place, 
with  a  boat  or  a  punt.  She  would  have  bagged  the  boat  to 
sleep  in.  It  would  be  jolly  to  be  rocked  to  sleep  in  a  boat  or 
a  punt. 

She  closed  her  eyes.  The  last  thing  she  saw  before  she  did 
so  was  the  little  black-framed  miniature  of  the  fourth  Lord 
Moone,  the  last  but  three,  in  his  tied  wig  and  ensign's 
uniform.  Louie  had  tacked  it  up  by  her  mirror  merely 
because  it  had  been  in  her  room  at  Trant  as  long  as  she  could 
remember  and,  if  one  might  judge  from  the  youthful  face, 
he  was  less  of  an  opinionated  fool  than  the  other  Moones — 
much  less  so  than  Uncle  Augustus.  .  .  . 

She  turned  over.     Then  she  slept. 

Sleep  also  was  deep,  too  deep,  at  Rainham  Parva.     It 


RAINHAM    PARVA  59 

weighed  on  the  girls  like  a  mulch.  At  five  o'clock  Louie 
could  hardly  drag  herself  out  of  it.  She  fumbled  at  her 
loosened  belt  and  pulled  out  her  watch.  Five  !  The  tea- 
gong  must  have  gone. 

Well,  perhaps  tea  would  rouse  her. 

She  felt  by  the  side  of  the  bed  for  her  slippers,  rose,  touched 
her  hair  as  she  passed  the  glass,  and  went  drowsily  down- 
stairs. 

As  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith  and  Miss  Harriet  always  took 
tea  in  their  own  or  one  another's  rooms — which,  for  that 
matter,  the  students  also  were  permitted  to  do  if  they  chose 
— the  meal  was  a  noisier  one  than  either  lunch  or  supper. 
Louie  heard  one  of  Burnett  Minor's  several  voices  as  she 
pushed  at  the  door,  The  child  saw  Louie's  face  in  the 
opening  and  sprang  up. 

"  Here  she  is — give  it  to  me — I'm  going  to  read  it  my- 
self  "  she  cried. 

Burnett  Minor  always  wanted  to  read  it  herself — "  it  " 
usually  being  one  of  the  sublimer  passages  from  the  current 

*/  i  c? 

number  of  the  "  Pansy  Library  "  or  an  especially  choice  one 
from  an  office-boys'  periodical.  Louie  smiled  languidly 
now  as  the  girl  snatched  a  booklet  from  Elwell's  hand  and 
gave  tongue. 

"  I've  punctured  your  back  tyre,  Causton,  but  Mac  has 
some  solution  and  we'll  mend  it  after  tea — and  I'm  always 
to  do  my  hair  like  this,  Harris  says — do  look  at  it,  isn't  it 
stunning  ? — and  now — aha  !  "  (somebody  had  made  a  grab 
for  her  book).  "  Thought  you'd  got  it,  didn't  you,  Elwell  ? 
Now  I'll  read  it  first  and  then  show  her  the  picture,  and 
that  reminds  me,  Mac,  you've  never  given  me  my  '  Jack 
Sheppard  '  back  that  I  lent  you " 

Louie  reached  for  a  chair.     She  yawned  again. 

"  Do  give  me  a  cup  of  tea,  somebody.  I  hope  the  water- 
ing's all  done,  for  I'm  not  going  to  do  any.  What's  the 


00  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

child  got  now  ?    If  it's  '  Maria  Martin  '  or  '  Irene  Iddesleigh,' 

1  think  I  know  them  by  heart." 

The  child  herself  answered  her  question.     She  jumped 
on  a  chair  and  extended  an  arm  for  silence. 
"  Ready  ?  "   she  cried.     "  Now  ! 

" '  THE  LIFE  AND  BATTLES  OF  BUCK  CAUSTON,'  " 

she  declaimed  in  her  most  ringing  voice, 

"  *  Being  the  Full  Story  and  Only  Authorised 
Life  of  this  Famous  Pugilist1 — 

("  Oauston's  uncle,  don't  forget,  girls) — 

"  '  Revised  by  Himself  and  now  Published  for  the 
First  Time — including  his  Historic  Encounter 
with"  the  Great  Piker  Betteridge ' — 

("  Piker  Betteridge—'  Piker  '—isn't  it  lovely  ?) 

"  '  Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall  and  All  Rights  Reserved 
'"  PRICE  ONE  PENNY  '" 

B.  Minor  drew  out  every  syllable  of  the  linked  sweetness, 
and  concluded ; 

"  Ar.d  lo  and  behold — on  the  cover — Buck  himself — Uncle 
Buck,  Causton — you  needn't  say  he  isn't — as  large  as  life 
and  twice  as  beautiful — there  !  " 

She  held  up  the  booklet  in  triumph. 

But  she  drew  it  back  again,  bubbling  with  enjoyment. 
"  Wait  till  I  find  the  gem — the  one  about  Piker,"  she  cried. 

Her  fingers  fluttered  rapidly  through  the  precious  penny- 
worth in  search  of  the  "  gem." 

Louie's  cup  of  tea  had  been  at  her  lips,  but  not  a  drop 


RAINHAM   PARVA  61 

spilt  as  she  put  it  down  again.  If  her  colour  changed  at  all 
it  was  only  as  that  other  pale  fighter's  had  done  whose  story, 
Price  One  Penny,  the  unconscious  Burnett  Minor  was 
rapturously  searching. 

"  Here  it  is  !  "  cried  B.  Minor,  peremptorily  extending 
her  hand  again.  "Listen,  everybody! — 

"  *  But  the  redoubtable  Buck  refused  to  allow  the  wiper 
to  be  skied.  He  recked  nothing  of  his  bunged  optic 
and  the  claret  that  flowed  from  his  beezer.  Game 
as  a  buck-ant  he  advanced  for  the  twenty-eighth 
round.  The  Piker,  whose  bellows  were  touched '  " 

But  Louie  had  risen  and  walked  to  the  child.  She  held 
out  her  hand. 

"  Let  me  look,"  she  said. 

B.  Minor  gave  her  a  suspicious  look,  as  if  she  feared  she 
might  be  reft  of  her  treasure.  "  You  will  give  it  me  back  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes." 

Louie  took  the  book. 

She  supposed  she  was  awake  now,  but  somehow  a  curious 
air  of  unreality  enveiled  whatever  it  was  that  was  happening. 
She  looked  at  the  cover  of  the  ' '  Life  "  in  her  hand.  The  most 
execrable  of  woodcuts  could  hardly  disguise  what  she  saw. 
Traditionally  posed,  nude  above  the  waist,  and  clad  below 
only  in  tights  and  fighting- shoes — formidably  watchful, 
lightly  poised  for  the  blow — in  appearance  at  any  rate  he 
was  a  man  and  superb.  But  really  he  had  been  cruel,  faith- 
less, divorced. 

As  if  she  had  passed  merely  from  one  state  of  half -wakeful- 
ness  to  another,  she  did  not  think  of  the  bomb  she  was  about 
to  drop  among  the  girls.  She  only  wanted  to  look,  and  to 
look,  and  to  look  again  at  this  man,  who  was  her  father 

"  Isn't  it  just  Causton's  mouth  and  chin  ?  "  she  barely 


62  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

heard  Burnett  Minor  bubbling.  "  But  I  can't  say  she  has 
Uncle  Buck's  beezer " 

Slowly  Louie  handed  the  "  Life  and  Battles  "  back.  At 
anyrate  she  had  now  seen  him,  if  only  in  a  wretched  wood- 
cut. She  looked  quietly  about  her. 

"  That's  my  father,"  she  said,  perhaps  a  shade  distinctly 
and  loudly. 

Then  she  looked  about  her  again. 

Burnett  Minor  jumped  down  from  her  chair.  Her  eyes 
shone  flattery  on  Louie.  The  very  audacity  of  such  a  lie 
compelled  her  admiration. 

"  0-o-oh — what  a  whopper  !  "  she  cried.  Louie  turned 
her  eyes  to  Burnett  Minor. 

"  You  said  uncle.  You  weren't  quite  right.  That's  rny 
father,"  she  said  again. 

Burnett  Minor's  life  was  full  of  miracles.  A  miracle  more 
or  less  made  no  difference.  Her  eyes  sparkled.  She  alone 
of  the  girls  believed. 

"  Not  really  ?  "  she  gasped. 

Louie  nodded. 

"  Qu'est  c'qu'elle  dit  ?  "  Pigou  cried  excitedly,  somewhere 
at  the  back. 

"Pooh,  she  didn't — she  only  nodded — nodding  isn't  a 
lie,"  a  casuist  scoffed. 

"  Stupid,  don't  you  see  she's  joking  ?  " 

But  Burnett  Minor  was  watching  Louie — only  to  be  quite 
sure 

"  Honour  ?  "  she  cried.     "  Spit  your  death  ?  " 

"  Honour." 

"  How  splendiferous  !    And  you  never  told  us  !  " 

But  Burnett  Major  had  already  looked  at  her  sister.  She 
was  shocked  into  using  her  Christian  name.  "  Genista  !  " 
she  reproved  her. 

"  Let  me  look  again,"  said  Louie. 


RAINHAM   PARVA  63 

She  looked  again  at  the  man  who  had  been  cruel,  faithless, 
divorced.  Again  she  handed  the  "  Life  "  back. 

"  He  keeps  a  public-house  up  the  river,"  she  said. 

At  that  the  tension  was  suddenly  relieved.  That,  of 
course,  was  too  much.  They  breathed  freely  again.  The 
derisive  clamour  broke  out. 

"  Oh,  don't  you  see  ?  They've  made  it  up  between 
them — frauds  !  " 

"  Of  course  they  have  !    Come  and  finish  tea." 

"  She'll  be  saying  that  was  the  man  who  brought  her 
down  next !  " 

"  Causton,  I'll  never,  never  believe  another  word  you  say ! " 

"  Come  on — the  housekeeper  will  be  here  in  a  minute." 

"  Pig,  you've  stolen  my  piece  of  cake  that  I  was  sav- 
ing !" 

"  Hurl  the  bread  and  butter,  Mac." 

And  the  crowd  which  had  gathered  about  Louie  dis- 
persed to  the  tables  again. 

Not  until  ten  minutes  later,  when  she  had  gone  up  to  her 
own  room  again,  did  Louie  begin  to  wonder  what  had 
impelled  her  to  make  her  surprising  declaration.  But  in 
an  instant  her  ten-years'-old  habit  of  thought  asserted 
itself  again.  Why  have  made  it  ?  Rather,  why  not  have 
made  it  ?  She  would  have  made  it  sooner  had  occasion 
offered.  Elwell  and  the  Burnetts  did  not  drag  their 
fathers  in  ;  she  had  not  dragged  her  father  in  either.  She 
had  not  told  them  that  her  mother  was  Lord  Moone's 
sister — it  was  known,  but  she  had  not  told  them  ;  why 
should  she  have  paraded  the  fact  that  her  father  was  this 
redoubtable  Buck,  from  whose  beezer  the  claret  had  flowed 
as  he  had  advanced  for  the  twenty-eighth  round  ?  They 
could  have  known  it  any  time  they  had  wanted  !  Conceal 
it  ?  Why.  had  she  not  all  her  life  been  glorying  in  that 
very  pride  of  the  cobbler's  dog  ? 


64  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

And  still,  deep  down  in  her,  she  wondered  whether  it 
had  been  even  that  sort  of  pride,  and  not  rather  that  secret 
hunger  of  the  heart  that,  while  she  was  "  in  at "  every- 
thing, she  was  also  "  out  of  "  everything.  Had  it  been  that 
that  had  caused  her  to  say  quietly :  "  That's  my  father  "  ? 

Or  perhaps  it  was  even  something  deeper  still.  Perhaps, 
in  a  word,  it  had  been  her  blind  groping  towards  that  crude 
and  strong  and  cruel  and  joyous  life  Richenda  Earle  had 
said  she  knew  nothing  about. 

She  wondered  whether  the  girls  downstairs  were  talking 
about  her  now. 

Her  eyes  fell  on  the  black-framed  miniature  of  the  fourth 
Lord  Moone.  Then,  as  if  her  brain  had  received  a  number 
of  disordered  impressions  all  heaped  one  on  the  top  of  the 
other,  she  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  her  bed,  not  so  much  to 
think  as  to  remember  again  exactly  what  had  happened. 

Gradually  the  disorder  cleared.  Phrases  and  the  tones 
in  which  they  had  been  uttered  began  to  stand  forth  more 
distinctly.  Presently  she  was  able  to  allocate  each  to  its 
speaker.  It  was  her  first  attempt  to  estimate  differences 
in  the  future  her  declaration  might  have  made. 

Burnett  Minor,  of  course,  she  could  dismiss  summarily. 
To  her  it  had  been  a  high  lark,  that  but  endeared  Louie  to 
her  the  more.  But  Burnett  Major  ?  What  about  her  ? 
"  Genista ! "  she  had  exclaimed,  shocked  at  her  young 
sister's  apparent  belief  in  the  socially  impossible.  Yes,  it 
would  be  interesting  to  see  what  difference,  if  any,  was  to 
be  seen  in  Burnett  Major's  attitude  now.  And  El  well's 
11  Oh/"  What  about  that?  And  Macfarlane's  blank 
look  ?  And  what  did  Richenda  Earle  think  ? 

Louie  did  not  know  yet 

And  what  about  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith  ?  Undoubtedly 
Mrs  Lovenant-Smith,  knowing  about  it  herself,  would  have 
preferred  Louie  to  keep  silence. 


RAINHAM   PARVA  65 

The  thought  of  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith,  however,  always 
braced  Louie.  That  curious  pleased  coldness  came  into 
her  eyes  again.  She  would  see  about  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith 
by-and-by.  In  the  meantime,  the  last  thing  she  intended 
to  do  was  to  absent  herself  from  them  all.  She  would  go 
down  to  supper. 

She  took  a  clean  blouse  from  a  drawer,  laid  it  out  on  her 
bed,  and  then,  reaching  for  a  towel,  started  for  the  bath- 
room. 

Before  she  reached  the  bathroom,  however,  one  of  her 
conjectures  was  already  answered.  Blchenda  Earle's 
cubicle  was  on  the  same  corridor  as  hers,  four  doors  lower 
down,  and  she  met  Eichenda  herself,  who  had  come  back 
from  her  vacation  a  week  before,  by  the  embrasure  of  one 
of  the  latticed  courtyard  windows.  It  was  almost  dark ; 
in  the  recess  the  little  reflectored  oil  lamp  had  been  lighted, 
and  it  shone  on  the  Scholarship  girl's  copper  hair  and 
angular  shoulders.  Louie  stopped.  She  did  so  deliber- 
ately. Let  Earle  allude  if  she  dared. 

"  You  washed  ?  "  she  said,  on  a  rising  note. 

"  No,  not  yet.    I — I  came  up  for  a  book,"  said  Richenda. 

"  You're  not  studying  to-night,  are  you  ?  " 

"  Ye-es — oh  yes,  I  must." 

"  Classification  ?  " 

"  Ye-es — yes." 

"  How  far  have  you  got  now  ?  " 

Louie's  mood  was  on  her.  It  was  overdue,  but  it  had 
come  now,  and  she  was  challenging  Earle.  Nevertheless, 
she  was  ignorant  of  what  she  really  challenged  when  she 
challenged  Earle.  Hard  knowledge  of  the  true  weight  of 
Life  will  tell,  and  Earle's  knowledge  of  that  weight  told 
now.  The  girl's  head  was  downhung,  so  that  the  nodule 
of  bone  at  the  back  of  her  neck  caught  the  light  sharply. 
Suddenly  she  looked  up. 


66  THE    STORY    OF    LOUIE 

"  But  you  are  Lord  Moone's  niece,  aren't  you  ?  "  she 
said,  without  preface. 

Since  her  vacation,  this  daughter  of  a  struggling  West- 
bourne  Grove  bookseller  had  seemed  less  assertive  than 
before,  and  was,  somehow,  none  the  worse  for  it.  Louie 
didn't  know  what  had  made  the  difference,  but  she  momen- 
tarily dropped  her  point. 

"  Yes,"  she  said.     "  Why  ?  " 

"  Then ?  "  Richenda  halted. 

"  Then  what  ?  The  other  that  I  told  them  downstairs 
is  just  as  true,  if  that's  what  you  want  to  know." 

"  But— but " 

"  Well,  what  ?  " 

Earle  evidently  mitigated  what  she  had  been  about  to 
say. 

"  I  only  mean  that — that  you  must  have  thought  it  qu^-el' , 
my  talking  as  I  did — that  morning,  you  know  ?  " 

Louie  saw  the  approach  of  the  first  attitude  for  her  garner. 

"  What  morning  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"  When  they  punished  me — when  I  was  washing  the 
fruit  trees." 

"  I  remember.  Well,  why  should  I  think  anything 
queer  ?  " 

Earle's  head  dropped  again.  Again  the  sharp  nodule 
of  bone  showed. 

"  Do  you  mean,"  Louie  said,  "  that  if  my  father's  what 
I  said,  no  doubt  I  know  as  much  about  what  you  were 
saying  as  you  do  ?  " 

"  Oh  no  !  "  Earle  said,  the  more  quickly  that  that  prob- 
ably had  been  what  she  had  meant. 

"  Then  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Only  that  it's— so  odd " 

But  suddenly  Louie  gave  her  towel  a  twitch  and  turned 
away.  She  spoke  with  her  chin  over  her  shoulder. 


67 

"  I  don't  love  my  mother,"  she  said,  "  but  for  all  that 
she  is  Lord  Moone's  sister — Augustus  Evelyn  Francis 
Scarisbrick,  Lord  Moone,  And  the  other's  my  father.  I 
wouldn't  study  too  hard  about  it  if  I  were  you.  You  have 
your  medal  to  get." 

She  walked  abruptly  to  the  bathroom. 

That  night,  as  usual,  she  sat  at  supper  between  Burnett 
Minor  and  Richenda  Earle.  The  ordinarily  irrepressible 
child  on  her  left  was  silent ;  but  others,  two  or  three  places 
removed  from  Louie,  leaned  back  or  forward  from  time  to 
time  to  speak  to  her.  She  fancied  Burnett  Minor  had  been 
crying  ;  she  was  sure  of  this  when,  giving  the  child's  hand 
a  pat  under  the  table,  she  felt  her  own  hand  impulsively 
caught  and  squeezed.  Then,  in  proportion  as  Burnett 
Minor  cheered  up  (which  she  usually  did  very  quickly),  the 
others  ceased  to  talk  across  to  Louie.  It  was  as  if,  whoever 
did  it,  some  normal  level  of  chatter  must  be  maintained. 
Soon  supper  was  as  desultorily  talkative  as  it  always  was. 
Louie,  glancing  at  the  top  table,  saw  that  Mrs  Lovenant- 
Smith  knew  nothing  of  what  had  happened  at  tea-time. 
She  was,  however,  quite  ready  for  her  the  moment  she 
should  find  out  something. 


ONE  afternoon  about  three  weeks  later  Louie  Causton 
had  occasion  to  go  into  the  carpenter's  shed.  This  shed 
lay  between  the  dairies  and  the  boiler-house  that  was  the 
centre  of  the  hot-water-pipe  system,  and  Priddy  had  a 
frame  making  there.  Half  this  frame,  protected  by  a 
board  with  "  Wet  Paint  "  chalked  upon  it,  leaned  against 
the  outside  wall,  and,  with  his  back  to  the  sunlit  doorway, 


68  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

a  young  man,  whom  at  first  Louie  took  to  be  Priddy,  was 
doing  something  at  a  bench.  Hearing  her,  he  turned.  It 
was  not  Priddy.  Louie  did  not  know  him. 

There  is  in  the  British  Museum  a  small  helmeted  head 
very  like  the  young  man  Louie  saw.  It  is  on  the  upper 
floor,  among  the  Tanagras,  in  a  case  on  the  left  as  you  walk 
from  the  stairs.  This  young  man,  of  course,  was  not 
helmeted.  His  face  was  handsome  and  slightly  vacuous  ; 
his  eyes  in  particular  had  something  of  the  blankness  of  the 
little  terra-cotta  head ;  and  his  mouth  was  full  and  classically 
curved,  and  had  the  slightest  of  smudges  of  dark  moustache 
along  the  deeply  indented  upper  lip.  A  pair  of  rolling 
muscular  shoulders  showed  through  his  white  sweater ; 
his  old  trousers  were  tucked  into  a  pair  of  wooden-looking 
boots ;  and  he  was  filing  something.  Louie  wondered 
what  business  he  had  there. 

He  told  her.  He  spoke  in  a  slow  voice,  as  if  he  had  got 
his  explanation  by  rote.  He  was  there  by  Mrs  Lovenant- 
Srnith's  permission,  he  said. 

"  We  had  a  smash  with  the  centre-board,  you  see,"  he 
explained.  "  Crash — just  at  tea-time.  Izzard  wanted  to 
send  it  to  Mazzicombe,  but  I  told  him  they'd  charge  nearly 
as  much  as  we  gave  for  the  beastly  boat.  So  I'm  doing  it 
myself." 

Then,  as  if  his  presence  within  the  precincts  of  a  horti- 
cultural college  for  young  women  was  quite  explained, 
he  bent  over  his  filing  again.  Louie,  who  had  come  for  a 
couple  of  boards  that  had  been  put  aside  for  her,  took  them 
and  went  out.  She  was  twenty  yards  away  when  she 
heard  the  young  man  call  slowly  after  her :  "  I  say — I  ought 
to  carry  those  for  you,  you  know " 

The  boards  were  for  her  bed.  This  she  had  removed 
from  the  orchard.  The  new  place  lay  quite  beyond  the 
orchard,  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  between  Ghesson's  and  the 


RAINHAM   PARVA  69 

sea.  There,  for  the  first  time  on  the  previous  night,  she 
had  had  the  best  of  what  breeze  there  was. 

It  had  been  the  attitude  of  her  fellow-students  during  the 
past  month — or,  more  fairly,  what  she  had  conceived  to  be 
their  attitude — that  had  caused  her  thus  to  remove  herself. 

It  might  be  too  much  to  say  that  she  was  still  not  as 
popular  as  ever.  These  things  are  not  demonstrable. 
Popular  she  had  been  ;  now — well,  it  depended  a  little 
more  than  it  had  done.  Burnett  Minor,  of  course,  would 
have  eaten  from  the  same  plate  with  her  by  day  and  shared 
her  bed  at  night  had  she  been  permitted — also  had  she 
not  left  for  her  vacation  a  fortnight  before  ;  but  Burnett 
Major — Louie  was  not  so  sure  about  Burnett  Major.  Her 
attitude  had  been  more  than  correct ;  it  had  been  so  correct 
that  Louie  had  been  put  altogether  in  the  wrong.  The 
words,  of  course,  had  never  been  said,  but  Louie  had 
imagined  Burnett  Major's  private  opinion  to  be  as  follows : — 

"  But  why  didn't  she  tell  us  sooner  ?  What  earthly 
difference  does  she  suppose  it  would  have  made  ?  Who 
cares  about  things  like  that  ?*.<  I  dare  say  her  father's  just 
as  good  as  anybody  else's  father  ;  for  that  matter,  mother's 
grandfather  was  only  a  farmer — mother  told  us  so  herself  ; 
but  nobody  likes  being  treated  as  if  they  were  snobs.  It 
showed  a  lack  of  confidence,  that's  what  it  showed  ;  and 
I  don't  know — now — I  mean  no  girl,  unless  she  wasn't 

quite  a  lady,  would "  Louie  could  supply  that 

part  too. 

"  I  don't  care — I  love  Causton  !  "  she  had  also  imagined 
B.  Minor  as  having  sobbed,  bold  and  unconvinced.  "  He 
didn't  sky  the  wiper  when  his  beezer  was  bleeding,  any- 
way !  " 

Yes :  for  Burnett^Major,  presentation  and  all  the  rest 
of  it  lay  ahead. 

Matters  would  probably  have  stopped  at  that  had  Louie 


70  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

herself  allowed  them  to  do  so ;  but  that  would  not  have  been 
like  Louie.  Allow  them  to  stop  there  ?  Good  gracious, 
no  !  Her  cynicism  had  become  bright  indeed.  She  was 
not  the  girl  to  contaminate  the  innocent  Burnett  Minor  ; 
neither — for  she  was  a  Scarisbrick  when  all  was  said  and 
done — was  she  going  to  be  driven  willy-nilly  into  the 
society  of  Richenda  Earle  as  company  good  enough  for  her. 
She  could  look  after  herself,  thank  you.  Coventry  is  no 
unpleasant  place  provided  you  have  the  putting  of  yourself 
there,  and  at  any  rate  her  Coventry  at  the  foot  of  the  hill 
was  cooler  at  night  than  the  other  one.  It  meant  carrying 
her  mattress  and  bedding  a  little  farther,  but  she  had 
a  prizefighter's  physique  to  carry  them  with,  which  was 
more  than  her  nearest  neighbour,  Elwell,  the  daughter  of 
the  Treasury  mandarin,  could  say. 

It  is  true  that  she  did  sometimes  wonder  (with  Burnett 
Major,  perhaps)  whether  she  had  not  inherited  also  from 
the  prizefighter  something  less  desirable  than  his  physique 
— a  discontented  and  ill-conditioned  nature.  But  that 
did  not  mend  matters.  It  merely  made  her,  if  it  did  any- 
thing at  all,  distrustful  of  herself.  And  as  this  is  the  story 
of  Louie,  virtues  and  vices  and  all,  her  moods  must  go  down 
with  the  rest. 

At  any  rate,  rolled  in  her  blanket  at  the  foot  of  the  hill, 
she  could  feel  the  night  wind  on  her  face,  and  see  the  stars, 
and  in  her  fancy  deride  or  boast  of  her  parentage  to  her 
heart's  content. 

On  the  afternoon  following  that  on  which  she  had  fetched 
the  boards  from  the  carpenter's  shed  she  went  to  the  shed 
again,  this  time  for  a  couple  of  tent-pegs  and  a  piece  of  cord 
for  the  better  securing  of  her  blankets.  The  vacant  young 
Tanagra  was  still  there.  But  this  time  he  was  not  quite  so 
vacant.  He  had  had  leisure  to  think  of  quite  a  number 
of  words. 


RAINHAM   PARVA  71 

"  I  say,"  he  said,  lifting  slow  and  bashful  eyes  of  the 
colour  of  blue  porcelain  to  Louie,  "  I've  been  thinking. 
Haven't  I  seen  you  before  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Yesterday,"  said  Louie  shortly.  He  had  had 
the  bad  luck  to  catch  her  at  her  brooding.  But  he  did  not 
seem  to  notice  her  curtness. 

"  No,  but  I  mean — before " 

"When?" 

"  Isn't — isn't  your  name  Ghaffinger  ?  "  He  almost 
blushed. 

"No." 

"  Oh ! " 

Then  she  relented  a  little. 

"  I  was  called  Ghaffinger  for  a  time.  My  name's 
Gauston.  I  suppose  yours  is  Ghesson,  or  you'd  hardly 
be  here  ?  " 

"  Chesson  ?  Why  Chesson  ?  No.  Mine's  Lovenant- 
Smith — Roy  Lovenant-Smith." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Louie.  "  Then  you're  right.  We  have  met 
before,  at  Mallard  Bois." 

Roy  Lovenant-Smith  appeared  to  be  so  relieved  at  being 
rid  of  a  perplexity  that  he  didn't  much  care  if  they  never 
met  again. 

"  I  thought  we  had,"  he  said  mildly.  "  You  were  Louie 
Chaffinger  then.  I  knew  you  were." 

"  But  what,"  Louie  asked,  "  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 

He  radiated  simplicity. 

"  That  centre-board,  didn't  I  tell  you  ?  Izzard  would 
make  me  go  halves  in  the  rotten  old  thing  ;  just  look  at 
her  ;  hardly  a  shroud  on  the  port  side,  and  the  centre-board 
was  hitched  up  with  a  piece  of  old  rope  instead  of  a  chain 
and  down  it  came  the  other  tea-time.  It's  the  cabin  table 
as  well  as  the  centre-board,  you  see,  and  the  whole  thing 
shut  up — just  like  that " 


72  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

He  set  the  inner  edges  of  his  hands  together  and  then 
closed  his  palms  with  a  slap. 

"  All  the  tea— jam  and  all  the  lot,"  he  said. 

He  amused  Louie.  "That  was  a  pity,"  she  said 
demurely. 

"  Wasn't  it  ?  But  I  say,  I  shall  be  catching  it.  I  might 
use  the  shed,  aunt  said,  but  she  told  me  it  was  a  fixed  Kule 
about  men,  unless  you're  a  gardener,  of  course " 

("An  obedient  nephew,"  Louie  thought.)  "Then  I 
must  go  at  once,"  she  added. 

"  Well,  I  shouldn't  like  to  get  you  into  a  row  too,"  said 
Roy  Lovenant-Smith  ingenuously. 

"  No,"  Louie  agreed,  more  demurely  still.  "  They  have 
to  be  strict,  you  know." 

"  Rather  !  "  said  Roy  Lovenant-Smith  heartily. 

And  Louie  left  him. 

She  was  hardly  out  of  sight  before  her  laughter  broke 
forth.  "  '  All  the  tea — jam  and  all  the  lot ! '  "  she  repeated 
softly,  and  laughed  again.  She  scarcely  remembered  this 
delightful  young  man.  When,  as  a  child  of  eleven,  she  had 
played  leapfrog,  he  could  hardly  have  been  more  than  seven, 
and  she  felt  herself  to  be  far  more  than  four  years  his 
senior  now.  He  was  the  adjutant's  -son,  she  supposed. 
Well,  he  would  hardly  need  Chaff's  usual  extenuation 
about  his  being  a  bad  fellow  at  all :  Louie  would  be  very 
much  surprised  if  he  had  wit  enough  to  be  very  bad,  or,  for 
the  matter  of  that,  very  anything  else  either.  Once  more 
she  laughed.  At  any  rate  she  had  to  thank  him  for  dis- 
pelling her  megrims  for  the  time  being.  Still  laughing 
softly,  she  passed  through  the  orchards,  ascended  the 
hill,  and  sought  her  favourite  place  by  the  stile  at  the 
topj 

She  had  not  thought  very  much  about  young  men.  She 
had  observed  them  as  so  many  phenomena,  obviously 


RAINHAM   PARVA  73 

superior  to  the  animals,  yet  not  quite  identifiable  as  beings 
with  inner  experiences  akin  to  her  own.  They  looked  at 
her  irregular  mouth  and  elongated  chin,  said  the  things 
young  men  did  say,  and  departed  again,  taking  their 
various  moustaches  and  their  unvarying  smell  of  tobacco 
to  some  girl  of  the  kind  she  knew  they  accounted  "  pretty." 
They  were  quite  different  beings  from  the  fairy  prince  of 
her  childhood;  and  since  her  childhood's  days  she  had  grown 
gradually,  she  did  not  know  how,  to  a  fairly  accurate 
estimate  in  retrospect  of  the  "  little  party "  to  which 
Chaff  had  once  taken  her,  pigtails  and  all.  Her  views  of 
marriage  too  were  coloured  by  that  mixed  parentage  that 
made  her,  she  supposed,  not  "  common "  and  not  "  a 
lady."  She  would  not  marry  unless  this  was  clearly  under- 
stood. What  else  there  might  be  in  marriage  was  shadowy, 
to  be  considered  after  this  redoubtable  magnanimity  was 
safely  out  of  the  way. 

With  no  young  man  had  she  ever  had  "  a  lark." 
She  was,  however,  more  in  the  mood  for  a  lark  now — not 
necessarily  with  a  young  man — than  she  had  ever  been  in  her 
life  before.  "  Cau-ston  a  vingt-quatr'ans — elle  coiffe  deja 
Sainte  Catherine,"  the  remorseless  Pigou  had  said  :  oh, 
had  she  ?  Did  she  ?  Moreover,  you  cannot  put  yourself 
gloomily  into  Coventry ;  others  must  be  made  to  see  that 
you  consider  your  sequestration  the  most  desirable  of  con- 
ditions. Indeed,  she  had  said  as  much  to  Eichenda  Earle 
only  the  night  before. 

Richenda  was  the  only  one  of  the  girls  who  slept  indoors, 
and  Louie,  carrying  her  bed-trappings  out  from  the  house, 
had  come  upon  Eichenda  by  the  little  green  door  of  the 
espaliered  wall  that  led  to  the  orchards.  Eichenda  had 
made  an  advance,  willing,  apparently,  to  forget  the  snub 
Louie  had  administered  after  the  "Life  and  Battles" 
revelation,  and  had  offered  to  carry  her  pillow  for  her. 


74  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

"  Why  do  you  go  so  far  ?  "  she  had  asked,  as  they  had  left 
the  orchard  behind. 

"  Oh,  I  hate  being  disturbed,"  Louie  had  replied.  "  I'd 
go  right  down  to  the  shore  if  it  wasn't  for  the  climb  up 
again." 

"  But  suppose  you  wanted  anything  during  the  night  ?  " 

"What  should  I  want?" 

"  Of  course,  I  forgot.  You  don't  have  headaches.  I 
have — frightful  ones." 

"  Then  why  don't  you  come  out  too  ?  There's  quite  a 
jolly  place  here.  I'd  help  you  to  carry  your  things." 

"  Oh,  I've  got  to  read,"  Richenda  had  shaken  her  head. 

"  You'd  be  heaps  better  for  it " 

Louie  had  not  much  in  common  with  Richenda — save 
perhaps  (she  loved  little  cuts  like  this  at  herself)  that  both 
of  their  fathers  were  literary.  But  she  had  had  that  rather 
brutal  snub  on  her  conscience.  That  had  come  out  next. 

"  You  do  study  too  hard,"  she  had  said,  "  and — I  say, 
Earle — I'm  sorry  for  what  I  said  that  night — you  know — 
when  I  snapped  at  you  and  said  you'd  your  medal  to  get. 
Will  you  forget  that  ?  " 

The  next  moment  she  had  almost  wished  she  hadn't  said 
it,  Earle's  hungry  gratitude  had  shown  so. 

"  It  wasn't  your  fault  a  bit,"  the  red-haired  girl  had 
broken  out  impulsively.  "  It  was  all  mine.  I  ought  to 
have  minded  my  own  business.  But  I  was  so — so " 

"  Well,  try  sleeping  up  here,"  Louie  had  cut  her  short. 
"  It's  jolly." 

But  Richenda  had  gone  on.  "  I  was  stupid,"  she  had 
murmured. 

"  I  don't  know  that  you  were.    You  see  how  it  is." 

"  Oh,  I  was,  I  was " 

"  Well,  as  I  tell  you,  I  don't  think  much  of  my  mother's 
lot." 


RAINIIAM   PARVA  75 

"  Ah,  you  can  say  so,"  Eichenda  had  replied,  shaking  her 
head.  Then,  as  Louie  had  thrown  down  her  mattress, 
"  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  undress  here  ?  "  she  had  asked. 

"  Well,  I  don't  sleep  in  my  clothes." 

"  But  don't  your  things  get  wet  ?  " 

"  I  wrap  'em  in  my  waterproof.  .  .  .  You  won't  come  up, 
then,  and  run  down  to  the  shore  for  a  bathe  before  break- 
fast ?  " 

"  Causton,  they'll  be  dropping  on  you  yet !  "  Earle  had 
said,  almost  frightened. 

"  Well,  without  the  bathe  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  should  die  !  " 

And  Richenda  had  gone  back  to  sleep  where  she  might 
find  remedies  for  her  headaches  within  reach  of  her  hand 
during  the  night. 

Louie  sat  on  the  stile.  The  sea  had  a  soft  bloom,  and  the 
sky  was  of  the  colour  of  the  whites  of  a  baby's  eyes.  Bees 
hummed  among  the  scabious,  and  blue  and  sulphur  butter- 
flies hovered  over  the  patches  of  wild  thyme.  A  tramp, 
sullying  the  air  behind  her,  crept  slowly  up  to  Bristol ;  a 
single  nodding  grass-head  near  at  hand  shut  her  out  almost 
completely.  Mazzicombe,  down  under  the  hill,  was  hidden. 
Louie  watched  it  all,  thinking  of  nothing,  or,  if  of  anything, 
of  how  sweet  it  was  to  relax  all  her  muscles  to  the  point  of 
not  tumbling  of!  the  stile,  and  all  her  mind  save  that  she 
might  still  be  just  conscious  that  she  existed  and  was  Louie 
Causton.  .  .  . 

"  Hallo,"  said  a  slow,  imperturbable  voice  behind  her ; 
"  here  we  are  again." 

She  started  a  little.  Roy  Lovenant -Smith  was  returning 
with  a  baulk  of  old  wood  over  his  shoulder. 

"  Oh,  it's  you,"  she  said.     SJie  did  not  know  whether 
she  was  glad  or  annoyed  to  be  interrupted. 
"  Yes,  it's  me,"  he  replied  placidly. 


76  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

She  was  silent  for  a  moment ;  then :  "  I  thought  you 
hadn't  to  hang  about  here  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Well,"  he  put  it  to  her  candidly,  "  how  can  I  get  over 
the  stile  when  you're  sitting  on  it  ?  How  can  I,  now  ?  " 

She  laughed.  "  Well,  I  must  get  off  on  my  proper  side." 
She  did  so.  "  There,"  she  said. 

He  climbed  over  with  great  deliberateness.  walked  a  few 
yards  with  his  piece  of  timber,  and  then  turned  again. 

"  No,  you  can't  see  her  from  here,"  he  said.  "  She's 
down  under  the  hill  there.  I  don't  think  she's  worth 
bothering  about,  but  Izzard  says  she'll  be  quite  all  right 
with  a  new  stay  or  two.  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  get 
'em." 

Louie  felt  a  return  of  her  amusement. 

"  Who's  Izzard  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Izzard  ?  "  He  looked  at  her  as  if  she  ought  to  know 
that.  "  Izzard's  the  other  chap.  Always  painting,  you 
know.  Painting  and  mooning  about  and  leaving  me  to  do 
all  the  work.  He's  away  there  somewhere  now."  He 
pointed  vaguely  across  the  Channel.  "  I  suppose  he'll  come 
back  when  he's  ready.  She  is  an  old  egg-box ! — I  say, 
how's  your  cousin  Eric  ?  And  that  girl — what's  her  name — 
Cynthia,  wasn't  it  ?  " 

She  didn't  know,  and  told  him  so  ;  she  did  not  tell  him 
that  she  didn't  care  either.  He  cogitated  for  a  moment,  and 
then  said  : 

"  But  I  say — what  do  you  do  at  this  place  ?  Seems  funny 
to  me. . . .  Mind  yourself — somebody  wants  to  get  over ' 

She  had  not  heard  anybody  approach.  It  was  Priddy, 
going  down  to  Mazzicombe.  Louie  stood  aside  from  the 
stile.  Priddy  climbed  over  it  and  began  to  descend  the 
hill.  Lovenant-Smith  looked  at  Louie  in  surprise. 

"  I  say,"  he  said,  "  that's  cool !  Don't  those  fellows  take 
their  hats  ofi  to  you  ?  " 


RAINHAM   PARVA  77 

"  No,"  said  Louie.  Then  she  turned  her  clear  grey  eyes 
on  him.  She  had  been  fairly  caught. 

"  Don't  they  ?  By  Jove  !  .  .  .  What  are  you  looking  at 
me  like  that  f  or  ?  " 

The  rippling  laugh  with  which  Louie  replied  dropped  a 
note.  "  Guess  !  "  she  said. 

"  How  can  I  guess  ?  "  he  asked,  with  his  innocent  and 
statue-like  stare. 

For  answer,  Louie  glanced  to  where  Priddy's  brown 
bowler  hat  was  disappearing  over  the  edge  of  the  hill.  Roy 
Lovenant-Smith  saw — he  really  saw 

"  What  ?  "  he  exclaimed.  "  You  don't  mean  to  say  that 
that  chap  will ?  " 

She  nodded.     He  stared. 

"  What,  get  you  into  a  row  for  talking  to  me  ?  " 

"  He  may  not." 

"  No,  but  really,  joking  apart  ?  "  he  said  incredulously. 

"  Perhaps  he  won't." 

"  Oh,  come,  I  say !  .  .  .  Look  here,  shall  I  go  back  with 
you  and  explain  ?  " 

The  innocent !  "  I  don't  think  I  would,"  said  Louie, 
smothering  her  laughter. 

"  But — hang  it  all !     I  say,  I  am  sorry  !  " 

"  Oh  ?  " 

"  I  mean  sorry  I've  got  you  into  a  row,  of  course,"  he 
amended. 

"  Oh,  I  thought  you  meant  sorry  you  stopped  and  talked 
to  me." 

"  Of  course  not.    That  is,  if  it  doesn't  get  you  into  a  row." 

"  And  if  it  did—  ?  " 

"  Well,  a  chap  doesn't  like  getting  people  into  rows. 
Look  here — that  beggar  wants  talking  to  !  " 

Louie  dropped  her  eyes.  "  I've  been  in  rows  before,"  she 
said. 


78  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

Instantly  he  cheered  up.  "  Oh,  I  see  !  You  mean  it 
wouldn't  be  much  ?  " 

"  Well,  your  aunt  can't  exactly  skin  me."  At  the  recol- 
lection of  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith  she  glanced  with  satisfaction 
at  her  hands. 

"Oh,  I'll  make  that  all  right  with  her,"  said  Roy 
Lovenant-Smith  hopefully. 

She  looked  at  him.  He  was  an  innocent !  "  You  know 
what  that  would  mean  ?  "  she  said. 

"  What  ?  " 

"  Well,  merely  that  you  wouldn't  see  me  again." 

His  look  too  rested  on  her  hands.     "  Why  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  straightened  herself.  "  Oh,  never  mind  about  it. 
I'm  going  now." 

He  coloured  a  little.  "  But  I  say — Louie — you  don't 
mind  my  calling  you  Louie,  do  you  ?  I  used  to,  you  know. 
— I  should  like  to  see  you  again." 

"  Perhaps  you'd  better  not,"  she  said,  with  great  demure- 
ness. 

"  Oh,  rot !  "  he  expostulated.  "  A  fellow  can't  get  a  girl 
into  a  mess  and  then  leave  her  in  the  lurch  !  " 

"  You'd  like  to  see  me  just  once  again,  to  see  whether  I'd 
got  into  a  row  or  not  ?  " 

"  That's  what  I  mean." 

It  wasn't  what  Louie  had  meant  him  to  mean,  but  "  Well, 
once,  if  you  like,"  she  conceded. 

"  All  right.    What  about  here,  at  this  time  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  I'll  see  if  I  can  get  away  from  my  stiidies." 

"  Right.  And  if  I  see  that  chap  in  Mazzicombe,  may  I 
say  anything  to  him  ?  " 

"  Please  don't." 

"  Not  about  not  taking  his  hat  off  ?  " 

"  Oh,  they  don't  trouble  about  that  sort  of  thing 
here." 


RAINHAM   PARVA  79 

"  Well,  they  jolly  well  ought.  All  right,  I  won't.  Good- 
bye  " 

"  Good-bye." 

He  took  his  board  and  followed  Priddy  ;  she  turned  back 
to  the  college.  She  laughed  again.  At  any  rate,  a  lark 
with  a  pleasant  image  was  better  than  a  hole-in-corner,  Miss 
Hastings  affair  with  a  gardener.  She  would  not  "coiffe 
Sainte  Catherine." 

She  duly  got  her  wigging.  She  was  put  "  on  her  honour  " 
by  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith  not  to  see  the  young  man  again 
who  had  betrayed  the  confidence  put  in  him  This  struck 
her  as  quite  richly  arrogant.  To  be  put  "  on  your  honour  " 
by  somebody  before  whom  you  stand  mute  as  a  fish,  and 
to  have  it  assumed  that  you  accept  the  bond,  was  the  largior 
ether  indeed.  Louie  did  not  even  feel  called  upon  to  say 
that  she  declined  to  consider  herself  bound.  Mrs  Lovenant- 
Smith  might  take  her  "  off  her  honour  "  again.  She  met 
Hoy  scarcely  three  hours  later.  The  interview  he  himself 
had  had  with  his  aunt  in  the  meantime  affected  the  situa- 
tion but  little  ;  his  centre-board  was  now  patched  up,  and 
the  withdrawing  of  the  privilege  of  the  carpenter's  shed 
made  no  difference. 

They  met  again  on  the  afternoon  following  that,  and 
again  on  the  one  after  that.  Louie  found  herself  hoping 
that  Izzard,  whoever  he  was,  would  not  return  from  "  over 
there  "  just  yet.  Let  somebody  else  attend  to  the  hair- 
combing  of  the  Saint. 

A  score  of  different  things  contributed  to  her  enjoyment 
of  that  affair  of  atmosphere — her  "  lark."  First,  the  initia- 
tive was  hers — for  her  empty-eyed  statue  accepted  every- 
thing with  as  much  candour  as  if  he  had  been  born  into  a 
virgin  world  on  the  eighth  day  of  its  creation.  Next,  the 
mere  disregarding  of  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith  was  a  pleasure 


80  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

she  felt  it  incumbent  upon  herself  not  to  forgo.  Next, 
there  was  the  instinctive  courage  with  which  she  translated 
her  sulks  into  carelessness  and  gaiety.  Next — but  allow 
what  you  will  for  the  rest  :  pique,  vanity,  her  derivation, 
her  upbringing.  When,  the  third  time  she  met  Roy  by  the 
stile,  the  half-French  girl,  Pigou,  came  upon  them,  and 
instantly  flew  to  spread  the  news  among  such  girls  as  still 
remained  at  Chesson's,  Louie's  Coventry  was  the  coveted 
thing  she  had  all  along  intended  it  should  be. 

For  she  was  more  than  merely  popular  now ;  she  was 
romantic,  apart,  a  being  to  be  looked  up  to  with  something 
like  awe.  Meet  a  young  man !  She  felt  herself  to  be  the 
channel  by  which  every  girl  in  the  place  might  have  access 
to  her  own  dreams.  They  gave  her  longing  glances,  that 
mutely  implored  her  to  tell  them  all,  all  about  it ;  she  talked 
about  everything  else,  but  not  about  that,  and  hearts  and 
mouths  watered.  They  offered  to  do  things  for  her — to 
carry  her  mattress,  to  do  her  Sunday  watering,  even  to  clean 
her  bicycle ;  and  Louie  let  them — but  told  them  nothing. 
Nay,  she  even  drew  Richenda  Earle  to  herself.  Richenda 
actually  carried  her  mattress  to  the  foot  of  the  hill  one 
night  and  slept  out.  The  two  mattresses  were  placed  not 
six  feet  apart,  and,  as  the  birds  settled  on  the  boughs  and 
the  stars  came  out,  Richenda  set  herself  wistfully  to  pump 
Louie. 

Then  it  appeared  why  Richenda  had  seemed  changed  since 
her  vacation.  Speaking  in  a  low  voice,  she  too  admitted 
that  there  was  now — Somebody.  Weston,  his  name  was, 
Louie  learned,  and  he  was  some  sort  of  a  commercial  school- 
master at  the  same  place  in  Holborn  where  Richenda  her- 
self had  studied.  So  instead  of  Richenda  pumping  Louie, 
Louie  pumped  Richenda.  What  was  her  Mr  Weston  like  ? 
Well  (Richenda  said),  some  might  think  him  an  oddity — 
the  Secretary  Bird,  his  nickname  was — but  he  was,  oh,  a 


RAINHAM   PARVA  81 

soul  so  sensitive,  so  gentle !  Was  there  any  prospect  of 
their  marrying  soon  ?  Richenda  sighed  ;  it  would  be  a 
long  time  ;  if  she  got  her  post  at  Chesson's  he  might  apply 
for  a  country  schoolmastership  somewhere  near,  and  then 
she  would  get  a  bicycle  ;  or  if  he  got  a  "  rise  "  in  London 
she  might  relinquish  her  appointment — when  she  got  it. 
But  in  any  case  it  could  hardly  be  for  years.  Louie  asked 
flatly  what  Weston  got,  and  was  told  one  hundred  pounds 
a  year.  She  looked  up  in  surprise.  Her  own  dress  allow- 
ance was  treble  that  amount. 

"  And  you'd  get  a  hundred  here  too  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  If  I  get  the  place — which  means  if  I  get  my  medal,"  said 
Richenda. 

Then,  Louie  thought,  that  would  be  two  hundred  between 
them — two-thirds  of  her  dress  allowance. 

"  But — but ,"  she  said,  "  I  thought  people  got  paid 

more  than  that !  " 

"  I  told  you  you  didn't  know,"  said  Richenda  softly. 

"  But — but — why,  my  aunt  paid  Miss  Skrine  one  hundred 
and  fifty  pounds,  just  to  go  through  her  engagements,  open- 
ing bazaars  and  charities  and  so  on — just  to  write  down  on  a 
slate  what  she  had  to  do  each  day  !  " 

"  Your  aunt's  Lady  Moone,"  came  from  Richenda's  couch. 

"  I  know  she  got  one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds,  and  lived 
with  them.  One  hundred  pounds  seems  absurd." 

"  That's  what  father  said  when  he  apologised  to  me." 

"  But  surely,  all — all  the  people  one  sees  aren't  paid  at 
that  rate  !  Why,  some  cooks  get  a  thousand — I've  heard 
that  for  a  fact " 

"  Some  don't,"  came  from  the  other  pillow. 

"  Well,  some  do,  and  if  you  strike  an  average, or  whatever 
it's  called " 

But  Richenda  interrupted,  softly  and  wearily : 

"  Oh,  you  don't,  don't,  don't  know." 


82  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

Louie  asked  further  questions.  She  frowned,  puzzled, 
at  the  answers.  Of  course  Richenda  herself  wasn't  a  very 
effective  sort  of  girl ;  if  anybody  had  to  be  downtrodden  it 
would  very  likely  be  she ;  but  the  things  she  was  telling  her 
now  (Richenda  had  begun  to  talk  again,  resignedly  rather 
than  bitterly)  were  preposterous.  There  must  be  some- 
thing wrong  with  Richenda,  probably  with  her  Weston  too  ; 
she  did  not  look  quite  right ;  she  was  very  different  from  the 
rosy  housemaids  at  Trant,  for  example.  One  hundred  pounds 
a  year  !  .  .  .  She  had  forgotten  all  about  Roy.  When,  pre- 
sently, Richenda  came  as  near  to  putting  a  question  about 
him  as  she  dared,  she  forgot  about  him  again.  One  hundred 
pounds  a  year  !  .  .  .  She  lay  on  her  back,  her  knees  up, 
her  hands  behind  her  head,  her  sleeves  fallen  from  her 
wonderful  arms,  the  brows  above  the  grey  eyes  knitted. 
She  was  sure  that  she  could  do  better  than  that !  She 
even  went  so  far  as  to  say  so.  Richenda  showed  no 
resentment. 

"  You've  got  Lord  Moone  behind  you,"  she  said. 
"  I've  got  a  prizefighter  and  a  public-house  behind  me," 
Louie  replied. 

"  Yes — I  know  you  think  you  know " 

Louie  lay  awake,  still  pondering  it  all,  long  after  Richenda 
had  fallen  into  an  uneasy  sleep. 

On  the  following  afternoon  she  met  Roy  by  the  stile  again. 
She  was  restless,  unsettled,  she  knew  not  what.  She  spoke 
almost  sharply  to  him. 

"  I'm  not  going  to  stand  here  with  you,"  she  said  ;  "  that's 
twice  I've  been  seen.  Come  down  the  hill." 

Roy  no  longer  urged  the  Rules.  They  walked  together 
a  hundred  yards  down  the  hill,  and  sat  down  under  a  gorse- 
bush.  He  made  her  move  quite  behind  it,  and  even  then 
tucked  her  skirt  a  little  farther  out  of  the  gaze  of  a  possible 
passer-by. 


RAINHAM   PARVA  83 

"  Now  we're  all  right,"  he  said.  "  How's  Lovey  this 
morning  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.     I  haven't  seen  her." 

"  Well,  don't  bite  a  fellow's  head  off,  Louie." 

"  Then  don't  bother  me  to-day. — No,  I  don't  want  my 
hand  held." 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you  ?  " 

"  If  you  don't  leave  me  alone  I  shall  go.  I  didn't  sleep 
till  nearly  daylight." 

"  I  didn't  sleep  for  quite  an  hour,  either,"  he  said  sym- 
pathetically. "  I  say,  isn't  it  funny,  Louie,  when  you  come 
to  think  of  it,  that  till  a  week  ago  I  hadn't  thought  of  you 
for  years  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  wasn't  lying  awake  thinking  of  you,"  she  said 
bluntly. 

"  I  was  of  you."    He  put  out  his  hand  again. 

His  approach  only  made  her  impatient.  "  Oh,  don't !  " 
she  snapped.  "  Really  I  shall  get  up  and  go  if  you  worry 
me." 

He  was,  as  he  would  have  put  it,  "  keen"  :  keen  enough 
to  begin  to  sulk.  She  let  him  sulk,  and  watched  the  sea, 
always  of  a  milky  bloom,  and  the  sky,  still  of  the  hue  of  an 
infant's  eyeball.  After  some  minutes  she  turned  to  him 
again. 

"  What  do  people  get  paid  ?  "  she  asked  abruptly. 

"  What  people  ?  "      He  spoke  over  his  shoulder. 

"  Oh,  people — you  know  what  I  mean  !  " 

"  We  get  dashed  little,  I  know  that."  (He  was  going 
into  the  army.)  "  What  sort  of  people  ?  Servants  and 
those  ? " 

"  And  those — yes." 

Roy  expounded. 

"  Jolly  good  pay,  I  call  it ;  lot  of  lazy  beggars  !  Why, 
the  fellow  down  there  wanted  to  charge  me  two  pounds  for 


84  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

patching  up  that  centre-board,  that  I  did  in  about  a  day. 
I  shouldn't  mind  getting  two  pounds  a  day  !  .  .  .  Why  ?  " 
"  I  want  to  know." 
"  Some  of  your  gardeners  been  grizzling  to  you  ?  " 

"No." 

"  A  wonder — rotten  grousing  lot !  They  ought  to  have 
uniforms  to  buy,  and  mess-bills  and  clubs  and  things  ;  they'd 
know  all  about  it  then !  Two  pounds  for  filing  a  piece  of 
iron  and  putting  a  patch  on  a  piece  of  wood  ! — I  think  it 
will  hold  all  right,"  he  continued  naively  ;  "  we  shall  make 
a  deuce  of  a  lot  of  leeway  if  it  doesn't.  We're  flat-bottomed, 
you  see,  with  only  bilge-keels,  and  that  reminds  me ;  Izzard's 
coming  back  on  Wednesday ;  I'd  a  note  from  him  this 
morning.  But  he  won't  be  in  the  way,  dear,  if  you'll  only 
be  friends " 

She  could  not  help  laughing.  After  all,  Richenda's 
"  grousing  "  was  a  little  spoiling  her  fun.  She  turned  to 
him  again. 

"  I  haven't  seen  her  yet,"  she  said.  "  Let's  go  down  to 
her  now." 

He  chuckled  mildly.  "  You  do  play  the  dickens  with  the 
Rules,  Louie." 

"  Bother  the  Rules  !  " 

"  Well,  you  don't  want  to  go  just  this  minute  ;  it's  jolly 
here " 

This  time  she  did  not  withdraw  her  hand. 

But  he  was  very  slow,  she  thought,  in  kissing  her.  He 
had  never  kissed  her  yet.  What  was  the  good  of  being 
caught  at — nothing  ? 

Well,  statues  (she  reflected),  especially  young  ones,  are 
slow 

Even  as  she  was  thinking  it  he  did  that  very  thing. 
Perhaps  it  was  to  summon  up  resolution  to  do  so  that  he 
had  lain  awake  the  previous  night.  He  kissed  her  cheek. 


RAINHAM   PARVA  85 

The  result  was  curious.  It  was  the  law  of  her  physique 
that  most  moments  of  perturbation  only  turned  her  paler ; 
but  at  this  particular  form  of  perturbation  she  turned  sud- 
denly pink. 

In  a  few  moments  she  was  as  before.  The  first  sign  that 
she  was  Louie  again  was  that  she  forbade  him  to  repeat  the 
offence.  He  sulked  again. 

"  All  right,"  he  said  resentfully ;  "  then  we  may  as  well  go 
and  see  the  yacht." 

"  I  don't  want  to  see  the  yacht." 

"  Well,  you  needn't  be  stuffy  about  it " 

Statues  were  distractingly  slow  ! 

Then  she  looked  at  him  with  a  faintly  mocking  smile. 

"  Aren't  you  going  to  say  you're  sorry  ?  "  she  challenged 
him  (but  she  had  for  a  moment  a  faint  return  of  the  un- 
habitual  colour  for  all  that). 

He  seemed  to  suspect  that  he  was  being  mocked  ;  never- 
theless it  was  with  a  rather  tremulous  boldness  that  he 
answered  "  No." 

"  Oh  !  " 

"  You  see,"  he  explained,  "  you  did  let  me  hold  your 
hand." 

She  caught  her  breath.  Good  gracious !  Why,  he 
would  be  saying  presently  that  she  had  asked  him  to 
kiss  her  !  "  You  see,  you  did  let  me  hold  your  hand  !  " 
What  next  ? 

"  You  know  you  did,"  he  argued  simply. 

Even  so  it  is  written,  "  Out  of  the  mouths  of  babes  and 
sucklings " 

Suddenly  she  laughed.  0  admirable  innocence,  that 
alone  can  defeat  guile  !  After  all,  it  was  too  unpardonable 
not  to  be  pardoned.  She  turned  her  face  away  again. 

"  You  are  stupid  ! "  she  murmured,  her  face,  even  her 
neck,  pink  once  more. 


86  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

At  that  quite  a  new  gleam  seemed  to  irradiate  his  good- 
looking  clay. 

"  I  say,"  he  said  slowly,  as  he  struggled  with  the  newness 
of  the  idea,  "  you  mean — do  you  mean  ? — about  my  not 
kissing  you — properly  ?  " 

Oh,  the  heaviness !  But  he  should  kiss  her  "  properly," 
as  he  called  it,  now  ! 

"Oh,"  she  said  briskly,  "it's  too  late  now.  You  can't 
very  well  after  that,  can  you  ?  " 

But  he  beamed.     "  Of  course  I  can  ! " 

"  No,  Koy  !  " 

« I  will—'' 

This  was  outrageous.     She  made  as  if  to  rise. 

"  No,  Eoy — no — you  know  very  well  you  don't  think  I'm 
pretty " 

"  Well,  you  aren't  ugly,"  said  he. 

(Great  heavens  !    She  "  wasn't  ugly  "£!) 

"  Very  well,  Mr  Statue,"  she  thought,  compressing  those 
irregular  lips  whose  degree  of  prettiness  he  estimated  so 
nicely.  "  I'm  going  to  be  pretty  in  a  very  few  minutes,  and 
you're  going  to  tell  me  so." 

"  No,  Roy,"  she  said  aloud  ;  "  just  let's  sit  and  talk — 
sensibly — I  don't  know  what  made  you  behave  like  this  all 
of  a  sudden " 

And  there  was  none  to  say  "  Provoking  hussy  !  " . 

An  hour  later  they  rose.  It  was  loo  late  to  go  to  the  yacht 
now.  They  walked  together  back  to  the  stile.  Their 
shoulders  overlapped.  The  kisses  came  easily  now. 

"  Then  we'll  go  aboard  her  to-morrow  ?  "  he  said. 

"Very  well." 

" '  Once  aboard  the  lugger ' — ha,  ha — but  of  course  she's 
a  cutter,  not  a  lugger.  That's  just  a  saying,  '  Once  aboard 
the  lugger.' " 


RAINHAM   PARVA  87 

"Really?" 

"  Yes,  hadn't  you  heard  it  ?  '  Once  aboard  the  lugger  and 
the  girl  is  mine,'  it  is.  And  I  say,  you'd  better  put  some 
old  clothes  on  if  I'm  to  show  you  how  the  centre-board 
works." 

"All  right." 

"  What  about  Lovey  ?  "  he  asked  once  more. 

"  Oh,  we  write  down  on  a  slate  where  we're  going." 

He  held  her  a  little  away.  "  I — say  !  .  .  .  You  wouldn't 
tell  her  where,  would  you  ?  " 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  What— cheek  !  " 

"  She  put  me  '  on  my  honour ' — impudence  !  "  quoth 
Louie. 

"  But  I  say— what  frightful  cheek  !  " 

"  Good-bye " 

"  Just  a  minute " 

"Well " 

Then,  "  'Bye " 

"  Good-bye." 

He  called  her  name  after  her.    "  Louie  !  " 

"What?" 

"  Good-bye " 

"  Good-bye,  boy "    She  waved  her  hand. 

Anyway,  she  thought  with  satisfaction,  she  had  made  him 
say — swear — that  she  was  pretty. 

The  next  afternoon,  as  good  as  her  word,  Louie  wrote  on 
the  hall-slate :  "  Gone  to  Mazzicombe :  L.  Causton."  Then 
she  walked,  whistling,  out  of  the  house  and  up  the  hill. 


88  THE    STORY    OF    LOUIE 

VI 

THIS  time  she  fully  expected  to  catch  it,  and  did  catch  it. 
No  time  was  lost.  A  note  from  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith  just 
before  supper  ordered  her  to  report  herself  immediately  after 
that  meal.  At  a  quarter  past  nine  she  presented  herself. 

The  French  window  stood  wide  open,  but  night  was  fast 
falling  over  the  front  lawn,  and  a  clipped  peacock  of  box 
showed  against  a  brownish-green  sky.  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith 
stood  by  the  window.  It  moved  as  she  turned,  and  there 
swung  slowly  across  the  pane  the  reflection  of  the  tall, 
yellow-shaded  standard-lamp  in  one  corner.  Miss  Harriet 
Chesson  had  followed  Louie  in.  In  her  hand  was  a  piece 
of  paper — Louie's  "  conduct-report." 

The  beginning  of  the  encounter  was  no  skirmish  ;  its  end 
was  positive  slaughter.  This  is  no  place  for  a  report  of  it, 
round  by  round  ;  it  must  be  summarised,  even  as  the  "  Life 
and  Battles  "  summarises  the  combat  between  Buck  and  the 
terrible  Piker.  Louie  "  led,"  so  to  speak,  by  asking  whether 
she  might  sit  down,  giving  as  her  reason  that  she  had  had  a 
long  walk  that  afternoon  ;  permission  was  only  refused  her 
after  she  had  put  her  hand  on  the  back  of  a  wheatear  chair 
and  said  again :  "  I  think  you  said  Yes  ?  "  She  then  placed 
the  chair  for  Miss  Harriet  to  sit  on,  as  near  as  possible  to 
that  of  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith.  She  herself  stood  in  the  middle 
of  the  room. 

Miss  Harriet,  evidently  wishing  she  was  somewhere  else, 
read  aloud  the  conduct-report.  It  was  longish  and  detailed. 
It  also,  as  Louie  well  knew,  did  not  contain  one  of  the  real 
points  at  issue.  She  looked  from  one  to  the  other  of  the 
two  women.  The  Lady-in-Charge  wore  a  discreetly-necked 
evening  frock,  with  a  fichu  secured  by  a  mourning  brooch  ; 
and  her  fingers  kept  touching  this  brooch,  and  also  kept 


RAINHAM   PARVA  89 

leaving  it  again,  as  if  Louie's  eyes  had  been  capable  of  a 
physical  plucking  of  them  away.  She  had  had  Miss  Harriet 
in,  Louie  knew,  for  moral  support.  The  principal's  dress, 
too,  was  a  give-and-take  between  her  gardening  costume  and 
conventional  evening  attire.  Her  indictment  read,  she 
seemed  more  than  ever  anxious  to  depart.  Louie,  for  her 
part,  was  rather  glad  that  she  had  been  called  in.  Buck 
had  always  fought  better  for  the  eyes  upon  him. 

Mrs  Lovenant-Smith  began  correctly ;  her  first  trace  of 
acerbity  showed  only  when  Louie,  having  listened  to  her 
arraignment  with  downcast  eyes,  lifted  them  for  a  moment 
to  make  a  modest  and  quite  immaterial  correction. 

"  Have  the  goodness  to  cease  this  exaggerated  deference, 
Miss  Causton.  It  doesn't  deceive  me.  It's  only  a  form  of 
veiled  insolence." 

Louie  heard  her  indictment  out  in  silence. 

First  blood  was  drawn  when  Louie  mentioned  the  name  of 
Roy  Lovenant-Smith.  She  called  him,  with  aggravating 
naturalness,  "  Roy."  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith  rose  nearly  an 
inch  in  height. 

"  '  Roy  ! '  "  she  echoed.     "  '  Roy,'  indeed  !  " 

"  I  quite  expected  Priddy  would  tell  you  that  first  time. 
Of  course  he  would.  The  gardeners  here  don't  like  outsiders 
intruding,"  said  Louie. 

The  point  told.  There  was  no  need  to  mention  the  name 
of  Miss  Hastings.  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith's  face  deepened  its 
ochre. 

"  Go  on,  Miss  Causton,"  she  said ;  while  Miss  Harriet 
timidly  interposed :  "  I  think  that's  all  you  wanted  me  for  ? " 

Louie  went  on.  "  And  anyway,  you  gave  your  nephew 
permission  to  come  on  the  premises,  which  seems  to  me  quite 
as  much  against  the  Rules  as  anything  there."  She  pointed 
to  the  charge-sheet. 

"  Pray  go  on,  Miss  Causton,"  said  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith, 


90  THE    STORY    OF   LOUIE 

swallowing  her  wrath.  Piker  Betteridge,  counting  the  moral 
advantage  to  be  more  than  the  pain  endured,  had  formerly 
been  wont  to  thrust  out  his  undefended  jaw  in  order  to 
prove  its  invulnerability  to  attack ;  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith 
was  doing  something  of  the  same  kind  now. 

"  Pray  go  on "  she  said. 

"  And  of  course  that's  all  bunkum,"  said  Louie,  warming, 
and  pointing  once  more  to  the  paper  in  Miss  Harriet's  hand. 
"  That  isn't  in  the  least  what  you  mean.  What  you  really 
hate  is  my  having  told  the  girls  what  you've  had  in  your 
mind  ever  since  I  came — I  mean  about  my  father." 

"  Pray  go  on  !  "    The  jaw  was  thrust  out  once  more. 

("  Perhaps  I'd  better  go  ?  "  Miss  Harriet  still  fidgeted. 
Seedsmen's  daughters  are  not  at  their  ease  at  these  Olympian 
conflicts.) 

"  All  right,  I  will  go  on,"  said  Louie,  warming  still  more. 
"  You  would  have  preferred  me  to  hold  my  tongue  about  it, 
and  if  you're  thinking  of  asking  me  to  resign  I  should  like  to 
say  now  that  probably  at  least  half-a-dozen  others  will  go 
with  me." 

Here,  however,  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith  scored  a  point. 

"  That  may  have  been  true  a  little  while  ago,"  she  said, 
"  but — go  on."  And  Louie  remembered  certain  little  in- 
cidents and  unbendings  that  had  caused  it  to  be  indulgently 
rumoured  that  "  Lovey  wasn't  such  a  bad  old  sort  once  you 
got  to  know  her."  Louie  conceded  the  point. 

"  Anyway,  that's  what  she  does  mean,"  she  said,  turning 
to  Miss  Harriet — "  that  she  didn't  want  me  to  tell  them  that 
my  father  was  a  prizefighter  and  kept  a  public-house  !  " 

"Address  yourself  to  me,  if  you  please,"  ordered  Mrs 
Lovenant-Smith. 

"  Certainly  !  You've  been  set  against  me  from  the  first, 
for  that  very  reason  ;  and  as  for  your  nephew,  I've  known 
him  for  years  and  years,  and  you've  no  business  at  all  to 


RAINHAM   PARVA  91 

have  him  here,  and  it  would  sound  rather  well,  wouldn't  it, 
if  the  tale  got  about  that  you  allowed " 

But  at  this  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith's  hardly  held  composure 
gave  way  with  a  snap.  Well-born  but  necessitous  Ladies-in- 
Charge  of  horticultural  colleges  do  not  submit  to  being  told 
their  duty  by  the  daughters  of  pugilists.  She  stamped  on 
the  floor. 

"  Silence  !  "  she  cried,  shaking.  "  I  was  a  fool  ever  to 
have  had  you  here  !  You  make  discipline  impossible.  You 
corrupt  your  fellow-students — you  make  a  boast  of  your 
unfortunate  parentage — you  show  no  respect  for  the  Rules 
— you  think  yourself  at  liberty  to  come  and  go  as  you  please 

— you  carry  on  a  vulgar  intrigue " 

— not  with  a  gardener " 

("  Oh,  I  really  must  go  my  rounds  !  "  murmured  Miss 
Harriet ;  but  she  lingered  ;  the  spectacle  of  Olympians  for- 
getting themselves  does  not  occur  every  day.) 

"  — disgracing  yourself  among  younger  and  more 
innocent  girls " 

"  — with  a  Lovenant-Smith,  anyway " 

Again  the  stamp.     "  I  forbid  you  to  mention  his  name  !  " 

"Roy " 

"  Leave  the  room  !  " 

("  Please,  please  !  "  besought  Miss  Harriet.) 

"  You  will  pack  your  boxes  at  once  !  " 

"  I  shall  consult  Lord  Moone's  lawyer  first.  You  accepted 
my  fees — your  college  is  an  imposition  from  beginning  to 
end,  and  I'll  see  that's  known.  That  will  be  another 
scandal " 

"  Ah  !  "  choked  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith,  perhaps  with  some 
hazy  recollection  of  the  law  of  slander  in  her  head.  "  You 
hear  that,  Miss  Chesson  ?  You  hear  that  ?  You  heard 
those  words  ?  " 

"  No,  I  didn't  quite  catch — ladies — please  ! " 


92  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

"  If  you  didn't  catch  it,  I  said  the  whole  place  was  a 
shameless  fraud,"  said  Louie  calmly. 

"  Very  good.    Eing  the  bell,  Miss  Chesson  !  " 

But  the  servant  appeared  only  in  time  to  see  Mrs  Lovenant- 
Smith's  complete  collapse.  She  sank,  shaking,  into  a  chair, 
and  gazed  unseeingly  into  a  pigeon-hole  of  her  desk,  as  if 
she  might  find  some  help  against  this  devilish  girl  there. 
As  she  clung  (as  it  were)  to  the  ropes,  Louie  let  her  have  it 
(so  to  speak)  on  the  beezer. 

"  You  oughtn't  to  be  here  at  all,  really,  you  know,"  she 
said.  "  You  ought  to  be  in  one  of  those  places — you  know 
— in  the  Queen's  gift,  at  Kensington  or  Hampton  Court, 
with  the  dowagers  and  maids-of-honour.  If  you  like  I'll 
ask  my  uncle  whether  he  can't  do  anything." 

And  without  waiting  for  an  answer  she  swept  out,  not  by 
the  door,  but  by  the  French  window.  The  reflection  of  the 
yellow-shaded  standard-lamp  swung  again  as  she  did  so. 

She  entered  the  courtyard  by  the  side  door,  passed  under 
the  dark  yew  and  the  arch  beneath  the  box-room,  and  made 
her  way  through  the  orchard.  She  had  reached  her  pitch  at 
the  foot  of  the  hill  before  she  remembered  that  she  had 
forgotten  her  mattress  and  blankets.  She  returned  in  search 
of  them.  Twenty  minutes  later  she  was  in  bed,  her  knees 
up,  her  hands  clasped  behind  her  head. 

She  was  white  with  triumph.  That  woman !  Well,  Louie 
thought  she  had  held  her  own.  She  had  had  the  last  word, 
at  all  events,  and  an  optic-bunging  one  too.  Now  should 
she  leave,  or  stay  ?  It  was  entirely  a  question  of  balance 
between  her  desire  to  see  the  last  of  the  place  and  her  resolve 
to  go  at  nobody's  pleasure  but  her  own.  It  might  be  that 
she  would  have  to  stay  another  week  in  order  to  avoid  the 
suspicion  that  she  was  turning  tail.  The  fraud  of  a  place  ! 

She  lay,  pale  and  victorious,  thinking  the  matter  over. 

One  thing  was  certain ;  she  would  not  return  to  Trant. 


RAINHAM   PARVA  93 

She  supposed  she  was  vindictive  by  nature,  but  that  would 
merely  mean  at  the  most  a  week's  gradually  increasing  strain 
on  her  temper  and  then  another  series  of  embroilings  with 
her  mother.  A  philosophic  elf  somewhere  deep  within  her 
— it  was  hardly  affection — bade  her  spare  her  mother  what 
she  had  not  spared  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith.  Why  seek  a 
known  trouble  at  Trant  ?  If  she  must  take  trouble  with  her 
wherever  she  went,  she  might  as  well  take  it  to  a  fresh  place. 

Before  she  was  aware  they  had  done  so,  her  thoughts  had 
flown  to  the  vouched-for  but  incredible  things  Richenda 
Earle  had  said  about  life  and  London. 

Lord  Moone  had  a  house,  and  Captain  Chafnnger  chambers, 
in  London,  and  she  knew  both.  For  the  rest,  her  knowledge 
of  the  place  was  pretty  much  what  Richenda  had  guessed  it 
to  be — shops,  restaurants,  theatres.  Of  her  five  visits  two 
had  been  spent  at  Lord  Moone's,  two  at  Cynthia's  friends,  the 
Kayes,  and  one  at  an  hotel — this  not  counting  the  night  on 
which,  having  run  away  from  the  convent,  she  had  occupied 
Chaffs  room  and  had  wondered  at  his  large  pincushion,  his 
pictures,  and  the  ribboned  hair-curlers  that  he  doubtless 
kept  in  memory  of  his  departed  youth. 

Her  father,  too,  lived  in  London,  or  thereby 

She  fell  to  wondering  about  her  father. 

There  was  a  full  but  late-rising  moon  that  night ;  it  had 
not  yet  cleared  the  tree-tops  of  the  eastern  end  of  the  orchard 
below.  She  watched  its  silver  through  the  topmost  boughs. 
Already  it  filled  the  heavens  with  a  mist  of  light,  dimming 
the  stars  ;  the  glister  on  near  leaves  was  brighter  than  the 
Plough  over  her  head.  Scents  of  the  distant  gardens  stole 
undispersed  through  the  night ;  that  of  the  night-flowering 
tobacco-plant  was  for  some  minutes  almost  sicklily  op- 
pressive ;  and  behind  her  she  heard  the  scurrying  of  the 
rabbits  at  play. 

It  was  odd  that  she  thought  of  her  father  rather  than  of 


94  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

Roy.  Somehow  only  Roy's  actual  presence  had  the  power 
to  colour  those  now  pale  cheeks  of  hers.  Certainly  it  had 
done  so  that  afternoon.  For  an  hour,  aboard  the  yacht,  the 
rose-peonies  in  the  garden  had  been  paler  than  she.  But 
her  father  had  her  thoughts  now,  and  the  sum  of  them  was 
that  she  would  have  given  much  to  be  able  to  think  of  him 
as  not  cruel,  not  faithless,  not  a  man  who  had  had  to  be 
thrust  back  into  the  ditch  whence  he  had  come.  She  might 
have  sought  him  out  then. 

For  she  was  going  to  London  ;  that  was  settled.  She  had 
her  allowance,  more  by  a  half  than  the  income  Richenda 
and  her  Mr  Weston  would  gladly  have  married  on,  and  not 
one  penny  more  of  it  would  she  waste  at  Chesson's.  The 
next  day  or  two  would  almost  certainly  provide  her  with  a 
"  good  exit."  Then  nobody  would  be  able  to  say  she  had 
slunk  out. 

Oh,  if  her  father  had  but  not  been  a  brute  ! 

The  moon  cleared  the  trees,  and  another  too -sweet  tract 
of  the  night-flowering  tobacco  enveloped  her.  A  bird  or 
two  stirred.  Some  time  before  she  had  thought  she  had 
heard  the  sound  of  a  curlew's  whistle,  low  and  not  very  near, 
but  she  had  disregarded  it.  Now  it  came  again.  All  the 
effect  it  had  was  to  turn  her  thoughts,  tardily  and  almost 
unnoticed  by  herself,  to  Roy. 

She  knew  little  about  yachts  ;  yachting  was  no  pastime  of 
Lord  Moone's ;  but  even  her  vaunting  mood  relaxed  to  a 
momentary  smile  as  she  remembered  the  yacht  down  under 
the  hill  there.  Those  two  boys  must  be  crazy  to  risk  their 
lives  like  that.  They  had  rounded  Land's  End  in  her,  and 
in  quite  good  faith  evidently  expected  the  miracle  to  be 
repeated.  The  only  wonder  was  that  the  centre-board  had 
gone  before  the  rest  of  the  crazy  fabric.  "  I  told  you  to  put 
some  old  clothes  on,"  Roy  had  apologised  for  his  vessel, 
"  —and  I  say — I  don't  think  I'd  sit  on  the  table  if  I  were 


RAINHAM   PARVA  95 

you — I'm  not  quite  sure  about  it,  you  see — may  have  to  send 
it  to  Mazzicombe  after  all — come  on  the  locker."  So  they 
had  sat  on  the  locker 

She  had  felt  safer  when,  half-an-hour  later,  she  had 
clambered  down  into  the  little  dinghy  again.  It  would  be 
Davy  Jones's  locker  for  Master  Boy  and  his  friend  Mr  Izzard 
unless  some  fatherly  fisherman  took  them  and  their  boat  in 
hand. 

Then  came  the  thoughts  of  her  unknown  father  again. 

"  Ee-oooo-eee  /" 

She  sat  up.  The  whistle  came  from  the  stile  up  the  hill. 
And  suddenly  she  knew  it  was  no  curlew.  It  was  Roy. 

She  listened. 

"  Ee-oooo-eee  /  " 

It  was  Roy. 

She  knew  he  would  not  seek  her  farther  than  the  stile. 
Had  there  not  been  other  sleepers  just  below  the  orchard,  it 
would  still  have  been  the  extreme  of  his  boldness  that  he 
had  got  so  far.  But — she  remembered  how  from  the  first 
she  had  been  the  prime  mover  in  their  entirely  wanton 
flirtation — was  it  necessarily  the  extreme  of  hers  ? 

Then,  as  the  devil  would  have  it,  something  brought  Mrs 
Lovenant-Smith  into  her  head  again. 

That  woman ! 

All  the  blood  left  her  cheeks  and  thronged  to  her  heart 
again. 

Roy  would  certainly  not  pass  the  stile 

She  hesitated  for  a  moment  longer,  and  then  suddenly 
got  up  from  her  bed. 

Her  clothes  were  wrapped  in  her  waterproof  ;  she  took 
the  waterproof  and  put  it  on.  She  thrust  her  feet  into  a  pair 
of  slippers.  The  waterproof  was  not  so  long  as  the  garment 
beneath  it ;  the  moon  was  now  well  above  the  trees ;  it 


96  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

showed  the  hurrying  white  about  her  heels  as  she  walked 
quickly  up  the  hill.  She  drew  the  under-garment  up  a 
little.  The  waterproof  was  almost  the  colour  of  the  scorched 
grass.  The  small  shadow  that  preceded  her  was  now  the 
thing  most  plainly  to  be  seen. 

Over  the  stile  she  saw  the  shoulder  of  his  white  sweater. 
Again  her  caution  awoke. 

"  You  might  have  put  a  coat  on,"  she  said,  a  little  out  of 
breath.  "  You  can  be  seen  half-a-mile  away  on  a  night  like 
this." 

"  I  thought  you  were  never  going  to  hear  me  !  "  he  said. 

"  Oh  !    You  seem  to  have  been  sure  I'd  come  if  I  did." 

"  Well,  you  have  come,  haven't  you  ?  "  he  answered.  "  I 
say,  isn't  your  hair  different  ?  " 

"  Well,  it  isn't  done  for  a  call,  if  that's  what  you  mean  ; 
I  always  do  it  like  that  at  night,  stupid.  But  I'm  not  going 
to  stand  here  with  you  as  white  as  a  cottage  wall." 

Thereupon  he  paid  her  the  only  compliment  he  ever  did 
pay  her — and  that  was  unintentional. 

"  It  isn't  any  whiter  than  your  feet,  anyway,"  he  said. 

"  Well,  I'm  not  going  to  stop  a  minute." 

"  Oh,  dash  it  all !  "  he  protested.  She  did  think  him 
cool ! 

"  Good  gracious,  how  long  do  you  think  I  am  going  to 
stay  ?  " 

"  Hardly  worth  coming  for,  I  call  it,"  he  grumbled. 

"  Thank  you  !  " 

"  For  you,  I  mean,  of  course — as  if  you  didn't  know  I'd 
walk  miles — how  you  take  a  fellow  up  !  " 

"  Well,  two  minutes." 

Two  minutes  can  be  a  very  short  time  ;  five  minutes  had 
passed  when,  making  a  movement  to  free  herself,  she  said : 
"  Let  me  go  now,  Roy — I  think  we're  both  as  mad  as  we 
can  be." 


RAINHAM   PARVA  97 

"  There  isn't  anybody  about,"  he  muttered. 

More  minutes  passed  ;  then : 

"  Do  you  really  think  my  feet  are  white  ?  "  she  whispered. 
A  slipper  had  come  off. 

Then,  close  against  his  breast,  she  made  an  inconsequen- 
tial, halting  little  appeal.  "  Oh,  Roy — don't  go  in  that 
dreadful  boat  again  !  You'll  be  drowned — I  know  you 
will " 

"  Should  you  care  ?  "  he  whispered. 

"  Silly  boy  !  " 

"  No,  but  should  you  care  ?  "   .   .   . 

"  Roy,  let  me  go  !  "  she  ordered  suddenly.  The  minutes 
were  passing  fatally  quickly. 

"No— no " 

"  Oh— yes " 

"  I  won't  let  you  go." 

"  Roy,  let  me  go,  I  say  !  " 

But  it  was  not  a  command  now.  It  was  a  supplication — 
perhaps  not  even  that. 

She  did  not  love  him  ;  in  her  heart  she  knew  she  did  not 
love  him.  He  loved  her — years  afterwards  ;  only  years 
afterwards.  The  thought  of  her  left  him — but  it  returned 
to  him,  never  to  leave  him  again.  The  moon  made  the 
crest  of  the  hill  like  day,  but  the  shadows  of  the  gorse- 
bushes  lay  dark  on  the  short  grass  and  stunted  bents  and 
the  patches  of  wild  thyme.  The  moon  southed,  then  rode 
less  high.  In  the  short  night  a  lamb  called  ;  and  then  the 
birds,  reaching  the  shallows  of  their  sleep,  gave  a  drowsy 
twittering  and  went  to  sleep  again.  It  was  the  false  dawn. 
The  stars  grew  a  little  brighter  as  a  deeper  darkness  pos- 
sessed the  earth  ;  then  in  the  darkness  a  cock  crowed. 

They  met  again  on  the  next  night.     On  the  night  after 
that  they  met  once  more. 
G 


98  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

Only  after  that  did  she  sit  down,  alone  in  the  box-room, 
in  the  twilight,  to  think. 

Her  boxes  were  packed  and  strapped,  and  the  cart  was 
coming  for  them  from  Rainham  Magna  in  the  morning. 

She  wished  Burnett  Minor  had  been  there.  She  would 
have  liked  to  say  good-bye  to  the  child.  There  was  nobody 
else  it  would  break  her  heart  to  leave. 

Yet  Roy  was  still  down  there  under  the  hill.  The  centre- 
board had  gone  wrong  again.  She  was  to  see  him  at  the 
stile,  in  the  morning,  before  leaving.  It  seemed,  somehow, 
superfluous. 

But  she  did  meet  him.  His  face  was  set,  and  he  had  for- 
gotten to  shave. 

"  Don't  look  like  that ;  it  wasn't  your  fault,"  she  said 
composedly. 

"  It  was — it  was "  he  muttered,  hands  clenched. 

"  Rubbish  !  "  She  gave  a  short  laugh.  "  You've  no- 
thing at  all  to  blame  yourself  for." 

"  Oh,  I  have— I  have." 

Then  he  turned  to  her.  "  Louie,  you've  got  to  promise 
me  one  thing " 

But  she  stopped  him.  She  knew  what  he  was  going  to  say. 

"  That's  quite  out  of  the  question,"  she  said. 

"  But  look  here  !  "  He  used  the  words  he  had  used  the 
second  time  they  had  met.  "  A  fellow  can't  get  a  girl  into 
a  mess  and  then  leave  her  in  the  lurch.  You  must  marry 
me,  Louie,  if— if " 

At  that  she  had  found  a  touch  of  her  old  irony. 

"  Not  unless,  of  course  ?  " 

"Oh  yes— yes." 

But  she  turned  away.     "  No.    Good-bye." 

"  Won't  you  even  kiss  me  ?  " 

"  No." 

But  there  was  a  gentleness  in  her  refusal  such  as  he  had 
never  had  from  her  before.  Kisses  came  hardly  now. 


PART  TWO 
SUTHERLAND  PLACE 


RICHENDA  EAELE  could  have  told  Louie  Causton  that  an 
allowance  of  three  hundred  pounds  a  year,  paid  in  quarterly 
instalments,  only  permits  of  a  sunny  little  bedroom  and  a 
charming  sitting-room  in  Lancaster  Gate  on  certain  terms, 
of  which  terms  a  dipping  sooner  or  later  into  reserves  of 
capital  is  certainly  one.  It  is  true  that  Louie  still  had 
capital  of  which  she  knew  nothing.  She  did  not  yet,  for 
example,  count  her  wardrobe  as  capital,  nor  reflect  that  if 
its  present  standard  was  to  be  maintained  money  must  be 
set  apart  for  the  purpose  of  maintaining  it.  She  did  not 
yet  count  her  time  as  capital,  nor  write  off  the  days  she 
classed  as  days  of  "  looking  about  her  "  as  so  many  obliga- 
tions against  the  time  when  looking  about  her  would  no 
longer  serve  her  turn.  She  did  not  count  her  health  as 
capital,  nor  her  wild,  resilient  spirits,  nor  her  "  placeable- 
ness  "  at  a  glance  among  those  whose  possession  of  some 
capital  may  be  assumed.  All  she  reckoned  as  capital  was 
the  hundred  odd  pounds  she  had  placed  in  a  small  but 
sound  bank  of  her  stepfather's  recommendation,  and  (she 
had  vaguely  heard  of  such  things)  such  additional  credit 
as  the  Captain's  name  might  command.  But  perhaps  it  is 
enough  to  say  that  she  had  this  conception  of  the  potency 
of  the  Captain's  name. 

Nevertheless,  her  second  week's  bill  at  Lancaster  Gate 
was  enough  to  cause  her  to  send  for  her  landlady,  and  to 
ask  that  person  whether  she  had  not  a  single  room  anywhere 
empty  that  might  combine  the  prettiness  of  her  present 
quarters  with  the  convenience  of  having  all  her  belongings 
101 


102 

within  a  single  door.  She  was  conscious  of  reasonableness, 
almost  of  magnanimity,  when  she  remarked  that  she  didn't 
mind  going  up  another  flight  of  stairs.  The  landlady  had 
such  a  room,  but  pointed  out  its  lack  of  cupboard-space 
and  the  number  of  Louie's  dresses.  That,  Louie  replied,  did 
not  matter;  she  intended  to  sell  a  number  of  the  older 
dresses  ;  and  her  things  were  carried  upstairs. 

Her  idea  in  selling  the  older  dresses  was  that  thereby  she 
might  add  another  thirty  pounds  or  so  to  her  balance  ;  the 
half-dozen  she  thought  she  could  spare  had  cost  thrice  that 
amount.  The  wardrobe  dealer  who  waited  upon  her 
offered  her  five  pounds  for  them.  Louie  thanked  her,  told 
her  that  she  had  thoughts  of  going  into  a  business  so  lucra- 
tive herself,  and  bade  her  good-afternoon. 

She  had  come  to  London  at  the  beginning  of  September ; 
before  that  month  was  out  she  had  decided  to  leave  Lan- 
caster Gate.  For  some  reason  or  other  her  quarter's  allow- 
ance had  not  arrived,  and  she  wrote  to  Chaff  about  it, 
Chaff  promised  to  look  to  the  matter.  She  wrote  also  to 
Richenda  Earle,  stating  the  kind  of  lodging  she  required,  and 
asking  whether  Richenda  knew  of  such  an  one.  To  this 
last  letter  she  had  a  reply  by  return  of  post.  Richenda 
proposed  the  house  of  her  married  sister,  which  was  in 
Sutherland  Place,  Bayswater.  Without  prejudice  to  her 
choice,  Louie  took  a  walk  along  Sutherland  Place,  and 
received  an  impression  of  a  quiet  street  with  milk-carts 
drawn  up  by  the  kerb  and  Virginia  creeper  covering  the 
houses  with  crimson.  As  she  passed  the  door  Richenda 
had  specified,  the  door  opened,  and  a  squarer  and  older 
Richenda  came  out  with  a  string  bag  in  her  hand.  That, 
Louie  thought,  would  be  Mrs  Leggat,  the  wife  of  the  estate- 
agent's  clerk. 

A  week  later  Louie  moved  into  Mrs  Leggat's  first-floor- 
front-bed-sitting-room.     That  night  she  counted  her  money* 


SUTHERLAND    PLACE  103 

The  result  of  her  calculations  caused  her  to  jump  up,  as  if 
she  had  thoughts  of  seeking  some  occupation  or  other  that 
very  night.  Her  quarter's  allowance  had  still  not  come. 
Then  Mr  Leggat,  a  lumpy-headed  man  with  rabbit  teeth 
and  a  Duke  of  Wellington  nose,  came  in  to  fix  a  gas-burner 
for  her,  and  she  fell  into  talk  with  him.  He  wiped  his  hands 
ceaselessly  on  an  old  rag  as  he  talked.  He  told  her  it  was 
a  pity  that  Rich  had  not  stuck  to  her  book-keeping ;  he 
himself  would  have  been  head  clerk  by  this  time  had  he 
had  her  thorough  practical  grounding  instead  of  having  had 
to  knock  about  the  world  and  fend  for  himself ;  and  he  asked 
her  what  sort  of  a  villa-building-site  Rainham  Parva  would, 
in  her  opinion,  make.  He  added  that  it  was  nice  to  have 
"  the  rooms  "  (he  used  the  plural)  let  to  somebody  they 
knew  something  about,  and  then,  having  omitted  to  shake 
hands  with  her  on  coming  in,  did  so  before  going  out,  and 
evidently  accounted  their  introduction  complete.  He  came 
back  presently  for  a  pair  of  pincers  he  had  forgotten,  left 
her  a  Carter  Paterson  card  for  her  window  in  case  she  should 
have  need  of  one,  said  that  one  of  these  Sundays  they  must 
all  go  round  to  the  Earles  in  Westbourne  Grove  to  tea,  made 
a  pun  on  the  words  Earle  and  Lord,  and  went  out  again.  An 
hour  later  Louie  heard  him  tiptoeing  discreetly  past  her 
door  on  his  way  upstairs  to  bed. 

Louie  was  resolved,  however,  to  put  a  stop  to  the  "  Earle 
and  Lord  "  business  once  for  all.  She  was  a  Causton,  not  a 
Scarisbrick,  in  Sutherland  Place. 

She  felt  herself  to  be  already  on  the  verge  of  a  new  life 
that  was — let  us  say  amusing — precisely  in  proportion  as 
it  was  different  from  any  life  she  had  ever  known.  She 
must  be — if  the  word  may  pass — amused  ;  she  told  herself 

tf  J.  9 

so,  clinching  the  argument  by  adding  that  it  was  far  better 
to  laugh  than  to  cry.  She  had  promised  Richenda  that 
she  would  call  and  see  her  Mr  Weston  at  his  Business  School 


104  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

in  Holborn  ;  and  this  might  be — well,  amusing.  She  went 
without  loss  of  time.  She  took  the  Oxford  Street  bus  one 
morning  and  alighted  at  the  door  of  the  School. 

She  mounted  three  floors  of  narrow,  old-fashioned  stairs, 
asked  a  fair,  perky  boy,  who  somehow  managed  to  make  a 
good  suit  of  clothes  look  cheap,  where  she  should  find  Mr 
Weston,  and  presently  found  herself  introducing  herself  to 
a  thin  and  melancholy-looking  man  with  a  sparse  and  colour- 
less beard,  a  pair  of  silver -rimmed  spectacles,  and  a  gentle 
and  hopeless  voice.  This  was  "  the  Secretary  Bird,"  then. 
He  shook  hands  slackly  with  her,  placed  a  chair  for  her  in 
one  of  the  bays  of  a  sort  of  E  that  was  lined  with  books  of 
reference,  and  she  listened  to  his  soft,  dispirited  voice  and  to 
the  clicking  of  typewriters  in  an  ad j  oining  room .  He  thanked 
her  for  "  all  her  kindnesses  "  to  Richenda,  whatever  these 
might  have  been,  and  presently  a  skimpy  little  woman  in 
green  plaid,  with  eyes  that  peered  quizzically  behind  spec- 
tacles and  "  destined  spinster  "  written  all  over  her,  tiptoed 
for  a  moment  at  the  end  of  the  bay  of  books,  uncertain 
whether  to  approach.  Then  the  fair,  perky  boy  who  made 
good  clothes  look  cheap  also  came  up.  Mr  Weston  said : 
"  Excuse  me — yes,  Miss  Windus  ?  "  Louie  saw  that  she 
was  interrupting  the  morning's  work.  She  rose. 

"  I  daresay  we  shall  see  one  another  again,"  she  said. 
"  Good-bye." 

And,  outside  on  the  Holborn  pavement  again,  she  said  to 
herself  with  decision :  "  Thanks — but  no  Business  Schools 
for  me  ! — Poor  Richenda  !  " 

Three  weeks  later  she  became  a  student  at  that  very 
school. 

There  is  no  puzzle  about  it.  Some  things  come  no  less 
unexpectedly  that  they  are  more  than  reasonably  to  be  ex- 
pected. To  put  this  as  briefly  as  it  can  be  put,  she  had 


SUTHERLAND    PLACE  105 

merely  discovered  that  an  affair  of  atmosphere  had  become 
an  affair  of  fact.  That  was  all — nothing  more,  nothing 
less.  But  that  was  no  reason  why  she  should  not  be 
amused. 

The  natural  thing  for  young  women  in  such  circumstances 
to  do  is  to  seek  their  mothers.  If  Louie  did  this  natural 
thing  a  little  unnaturally — well,  she  did  it  unnaturally,  that 
was  all.  The  row,  scene,  or  whatever  it  was  going  to  be, 
had  better  be  got  over  ;  then  she  could  proceed  to  amuse 
herself.  She  had  wired  that  she  was  coming  ;  the  Captain 
had  met  her  at  Trant  station  ;  but  she  had  had  nothing  to 
say  to  the  Captain. 

The  Captain,  however,  had  had  something  to  say  to  her; 
At  first  his  mumbling  into  his  moustache  had  not  pene- 
trated to  her  intelligence  ;  she  had  only  heard  broken 
repetitions  of  "  Dear  old  Mops — only  for  a  week  or  two — 
knew  you  weren't  without — meant  to  write,  but  dashed 
awkward  thing  to  explain  by  letter,  and  was  coming  up  in 
a  week  in  any  case — if  she  stuck  fast  he'd  see  what  could 
be  done " 

"  Eh  ?  "  Louie  had  said  at  last.     "  What's  that,  Chaff  ?  " 

Chaff  had  repeated  his  mumblings.  At  the  end  of  them 
she  had  gathered  that  the  needy  Captain  had  borrowed  the 
quarter's  allowance  that  had  been  entrusted  to  him  for 
despatch.  Louie  had  merely  given  a  little  preoccupied 
laugh  and  patted  his  hand. 

"  All  right,  old  boy  ;  don't  worry,"  she  had  said. 

A  sample  or  two  of  her  conversation  with  her  mother  must 
answer  for  the  rest.  For  quite  twenty  minutes  the  Honour- 
able Emily's  head  had  been  buried  in  the  sofa-cushions,  and 
the  Trant  coal-and-blanket  charitable  account  had  lain 
where  it  had  fallen  from  her  hand — across  her  cheek. 

;'  That's  all,"  Louie  had  ended  with  hard  composure. 

"  Oh — oh "  the  mother  had  moaned. 


106  THE    STORY    OF   LOUIE 

"  And  as  I  say,  I  won't  marry  him." 

"  Oh — you  must — you  must !  " 

"  Why  ?    Because  Uncle  Augustus  will  say  I  must  ?  " 

"  Oh— you  must !  " 

"  I'll  go  and  see  Uncle  Augustus." 

"  Oh,  you  mustn't — you  mustn't !  " 

Then,  in  an  interlude,  the  reasons  why  everything  must 
at  all  costs  be  kept  from  Lord  Moone  had  been  brokenly 
explained.  In  another  interlude  a  few  minutes  later  Louie 
had  invented  a  fictitious  name. 

"  That  conveys  nothing  to  me,"  Mrs  Chaffinger  had 
moaned.  "  What  is  he  ?  " 

Louie  had  invented  a  station  in  life  to  fit  the  name.  Her 
mother's  face  had  disappeared  behind  the  coal-and-blanket 
account  again. 

"  And  this — this  ! — is  your  study  of  horticulture  !  "  she 
had  half  faintingly  wailed. 

"  Yes.      Yours  was  art,  wasn't  it  ?  " 

Then  Mrs  Chaffinger's  querulous  despair  had  shown  a 
weak,  vindictive  gleam.  Both  pronouns  had  been  a  little 
emphasised  as  she  had  retorted  : 

"  I  married  your  father  1 " 

It  was  only  a  flicker.  Her  head  had  gone  into  the  cushions 
again. 

"  That  didn't  last  very  long,"  the  devilish  girl  had  com- 
mented. 

"  I  married  your  father,  I  say — for  your  sake,"  had  come 
from  the  cushions. 

"  That's  one  of  the  differences.  There  are  others.  If 
you're  thinking  of  wiring  to  Uncle  Augustus  I'll  wait ;  if 
you're  not,  I'll  go." 

Lord  Moone  had  been  wired  for.  He  had  wired  back : 
"  Impossible  "  ;  but  a  second  wire  had  brought  him  over 
post-haste  the  next  morning.  The  situation  had  been 


SUTHERLAND    PLACE  107 

explained  to  him  ;  the  peer  had  walked  away  for  a  few 
moments  ;  Louie  had  thought  she  had  heard  something 
about  "  our  damnable  women  "  ;  then,  coming  back,  Lord 
Moone  had  abruptly  convened  a  Committee  of  Ways  and 
Means.  Words  like  "  Impossible  . . .  once  in  a  lifetime  quite 
enough  .  .  .  secrecy  .  .  .  the  Continent  for  a  few  months  .  .  . 
institution,"  had  been  used  ;  and  at  one  other  alternative 
Louie's  eyes  had  become  hard  and  chill  as  ice. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  had  come  harshly  in.  "As  you  say, 
all  these  things  may  be  possible.  I  decline  them  all." 

Then  Lord  Moone,  whose  habit  of  ordering  masses  of 
men  probably  misled  him  into  thinking  that  the  ordering  of 
one  young  woman  who  says  "  I  won't "  was  a  comparatively 
simple  matter,  had  made  his  pronouncement. 

"  Very  well,"  he  had  said.  "  Then  as  head  of  the  family 
I  order  that  your  allowance  shall  be  stopped  till  you  come 
to  your  senses.  You  hear  that,  Emily  ?  " 

"  You  mean  you'll  starve  me  out  ?  "  Louie  had  said,  with 
dancing  eyes.  Like  her  father,  she  came  up  to  time  as  long 
as  she  could  stand. 

"  I  mean  what  I've  said." 

"  Then  ring  the  bell,  please — and  don't  light  that  cigar 
till  I've  gone.  I  shall  be  ill  if  you  do." 

And  Lord  Moone  himself  had  ordered  the  carriage  in 
which  she  had  turned  her  back  on  Trant. 

Burnett  Minor,  when  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith  had  surprised 
the  rebellion  in  the  box-room,  had  not  made  herself  more 
inconspicuous  than  had  Captain  Chamnger  during  this 
scene.  Indeed,  probably  considering  that  Lord  Moone, 
his  sister  and  Louie  herself  formed  a  quorum,  he  had  pre- 
sently been  discovered  to  be  not  there.  But  it  seemed  to  be 
the  Captain's  lot  to  receive  and  despatch  Louie  in  her  com- 
ings and  goings,  and  before  the  carriage  had  reached  the 
lodge  he  had  stopped  it  and  climbed  in.  Ordinarily,  the 


108  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

whites  of  the  Captain's  eyes  had  yellowish  marblings  ;  the 
yellow  had  now  deepened  to  the  hue  of  cayenne.  He  had 
blown  his  nose  repeatedly  and  violently,  and  Louie,  glancing 
covertly  at  him,  had  suddenly  had  a  pang.  All  at  once  he 
had  shown  his  age.  Somehow  Louie  resented  his  doing  so. 
People  and  things  you  have  never  taken  quite  seriously 
have  no  right  to  come  near  the  tragic.  It  was  as  if  some 
puppet  strutting  within  a  proscenium  should  suddenly 
bleed. 

"  Mops,"  he  had  said  by-and-by,  blowing  his  nose  again, 
"  that  was  a  lie  you  told  them,  wasn't  it  ?  " 

Louie  had  tried  to  shut  her  eyes  to  Chaff's  bleeding. 
Her  hand  had  sought  his. 

"  The  name  I  told  them  ?  Of  course  it  was,  you  clever 
old  Chaff,  to  see  that." 

"  You  don't  tell  me  that,  do  you,  Mops  ?  " 

"  You  ?  No,  poor  old  boy,  it  isn't  worth  while  telling 
lies  to  you." 

"  I'm  glad  of  that,  Mops— 

So,  for  his  private  comfort,  she  had  invented  for  Chaft 
quite  a  new  lie,  name,  station  in  life  and  all. 

Then:  "Oh,  Mops,  Mops,  Mops! "  he  had  murmured 

sorrowfully. 

Little  parties  were  one  thing,  but  his  Mops  quite  another. 

But  her  anger  had  stirred  again.  She  had  remembered 
her  uncle's  proposals. 

"  Did  you  hear  what  he  said — Moone  ?  No  ;  you'd  gone 
out.  Listen " 

He  had  tugged  unhappily  at  his  moustache  as  she  had 
told  him,  bringing  out  the  words  with  vehemence  and  hate, 

"  Well,  but,  Mops "  he  had  demurred  wistfully. 

"  What,  are  you  going  to  tell  me  you  think  so  too  ?  " 

"  All  right,  Mops,  all  right,  all  right,  old  girl 

"  Much  I  care  for  him  and  his  family  name  !     He  could 


SUTHERLAND    PLACE  109 

bully  mother  into  marrying  people,  but  he  can't  bully  me. 
.  .  .  Sorry,  Chaff,  that  was  clumsy  ;  we're  pals  at  any  rate. 
Uncle  Gus  and  his  Scarisbricks  !  " 

^]Her  exclamations  of  contempt  had  occupied  the  rest  of 
the  time  to  the  station.  Chaff  had  put  her  into  her  carriage. 

"  You'll  let  me  know  where  you  are  and  what  you're 
doing,  won't  you,  dear  ?  "  he  had  pleaded.  "  I  can't  let 
you  go  like  this !  " 

"  I  hardly  know  where  I  shall  be  myself  yet.  Very 
likely  I  shall  go  to  a  Business  School ;  I  shall  have  to  do 
something,  and  that's  all  I  know  anything  about.  Anyway, 
the  bank  will  find  me — no,  you  poor  old  thing,  of  course  I 
don't  mean  the  money !  Of  course  I'll  ask  you  for  that 
when  I  want  it.  I've  quite  a  lot  yet.  Good-bye,  old  thing." 

"  Good-bye,  dear." 

And  this  time  he  had  not  warned  her  not  to  run  away 
with  a  student  of  book-keeping. 

She  went  to  the  Business  School  partly  (bien  entendu) 
for  amusement,  and  partly  because  there  would  be  very 
little  sense  in  sitting  all  day  long  in  Mrs  Leggat's  first-floor 
bed-sitter  in  Sutherland  Place,  Bayswater.  Perhaps,  too, 
Lord  Moone  helped  to  drive  her  there.  Her  very  skin  crept 
when  she  remembered  the  lengths  to  which  he  would  have 
gone — he,  the  corner-stone  of  orthodoxy  when  such  subjects 
came  up  for  (very)  full-dress  debate — to  save  that  precious 
thing,  the  family  name  of  the  Scarisbricks.  Louie  had 
had  vanities  of  person,  scores  of  them ;  but  she  had  also 
the  sense  of  the  holiness  of  the  body,  and  she  had  had 
enough  of  Trants  and  Mallard  Boises  and  their  masters  for 
a  time.  The  Business  School  would  be  as  amusing  as 
anywhere  else ;  indeed,  she  knew  of  nowhere  else.  Here  she 
was  at  last  in  a  London  that  was  not  the  London  of  shops 
and  dinners  and  theatres  and  drives  in  the  Park.  She 


110  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

would  have  the  fun — always  the  fun — of  it.  She  would 
go  with  the  Leggats  to  see  Richenda's  sisters  and  that 
father  of  hers  who  had  apologised  to  her  for  having  brought 
her  into  the  world.  She  would  learn  these  unfamiliar 
accents  that  met  her  ear,  breathe  this  invigorating  if  dusty 
air.  She  would  know  what  life  meant  to  that  skimpy 
woman  in  the  green  plaid,  would  inspect  that  new  specimen, 
the  jaunty  boy  who  made  his  good  clothes  look  like  an 
ordinary  "  reach-me-down."  And  she  knew,  without 
knowing  how  she  knew,  that  before  long  she  would  be 
seeing  her  father.  Sit  in  Sutherland  Place  ?  Oh  no,  that 
wasn't  amusing.  Besides,  she  would  presently  have  her 
living  to  earn.  She  had  thought,  when  Richenda  had  told 
her  those  dismal  tales,  that  there  must  be  something  wrong 
with  Richenda  and  that  she  herself  would  be  able  to  do 
better.  Well,  she  would  very  soon  know. 


II 

AT  Ohesson's  she  had  taken  her  proper  place  among  her 
fellow-students  at  once ;  it  was  not  her  fault  if  here,  at  the 
Business  School,  she  did  not  at  first  so  much  make  friends 
as  watch  a  number  of  amusing  phenomena.  She  watched 
them  with  wonder ;  all  was  so  very,  very  different.  The 
building  itself  seemed  once  to  have  been  some  sort  of  a 
dwelling-house,  for  there  were  cabbagey  wall-papers  of  a 
bygone  fashion  on  the  walls,  broken  ends  of  bell-wire  stuck 
out  from  the  mantel-sides  and  the  cornices,  and  the  gas- 
brackets were  old  and  ornate  and  grimy.  Louie  was 
conscious  of  something  like  a  shock  the  first  time  she 
approached  one  of  the  third-floor  bay  windows  and,  looking 
across  the  street,  saw  in  the  windows  opposite  men  packing 


SUTHERLAND    PLACE  111 

things  in  brown  paper,  waitresses  carrying  trays,  and  gas- 
jets  burning  in  the  dark  interiors  beyond.  They  seemed 
so  near.  The  width  of  Holborn  lay  between,  but  they 
seemed  to  crowd  on  her  much  more  closely  than  the  yew  at 
Rainham  Parva  had  ever  crowded  on  the  inner  windows 
of  the  courtyard.  The  yew,  moreover,  was  thinned  at 
intervals,  but  there  was  no  cutting  and  lopping  the  forward- 
thrusting,  amusing  humanity  across  the  way.  They  seemed 
to  be  caged  there  expressly  for  her  observation.  Well,  she 
was  there  to  observe — to  observe,  and,  of  course,  to  be 
amused. 

Her  new  companions,  too,  were  unlike  anybody  she  had 
ever  known  ;  they  no  more  resembled  them  than  the  sweet 
heavy  airs  of  Chesson's  resembled  these  diverting  smells 
of  dust  and  damp  and  bad  ventilation  and  the  whiff  of  the 
Holborn  pavement  below.  Their  accents  (amusing,  how- 
ever) struck  her  sharply ;  their  faces — alert,  sophisticated, 
highly  entertaining  but  without  candour — no  less  sharply, 
They  too,  like  the  buildings  across  the  way,  seemed  to 
ignore  intervening  space  and  to  press  intrusively  forward 
to  look  at  her.  She  was  glad  that  the  first  thing  she  had 
done  had  been  to  stop  Mr  Weston's  mouth  on  the  subject 
of  the  Scarisbricks  and  Lord  Moone ;  half  the  drollery  of 
her  experience  would  have  gone  had  these  people  known 
who  she  really  was.  And  the  things  these  slovenly  voices 
said  had  no  candour.  They  struck  her  as  a  series  of 
(merry)  "  scorings- off,"  a  succession  of  (cheery)  "  chip- 
pings  "  of  one  another.  If  their  reticences  seemed  all  in 
the  wrong  places,  and  hand  in  hand  with  their  defensiveness 
went  an  eager  volubility  about  the  things  Louie  would  have 
kept  to  herself,  why,  so  much  the  more  laughable  the  whole 
joke. 

She  had  been  only  just  in  time  in  extorting  her  promise 
from  Mr  Weston.  She  was  sure  of  this  from  his  manner  of 


112  THE    STORY    OF    LOUIE 

speaking  to  herself.  It  was  extremely,  syllabically  dis- 
tinct. To  words  that  he  had  been  pronouncing  correctly 
and  without  thought  all  his  life  he  gave  (as  if  he  must  find 
something  superior  for  her,  and  knowing  better  all  the 
time)  pronunciations  marvellously  new.  He  found  new 
words,  too ;  must  look  'em  up,  Louie  thought,  in  the 
dictionary.  Richenda,  who  had  begun  by  being  his  sweet- 
heart, became  his  "  intended,"  and  once  even  his  "  ina- 
morata." But  he  was  to  be  trusted.  Louie  saw  that.  If 
he  gave  away  her  identity  at  all  it  would  be  only  by  the 
portentousness  of  his  secrecy.  As  a  matter  of  fact  he  never 
did  so. 

It  was  the  skimpy  woman  in  the  green  plaid,  Miss  Windus, 
who  answered  most  of  Louie's  questions  about  her  new 
companions.  She  too  was  a  delightful  novelty  to  Louie. 
As  if  to  make  her  own  position  quite  clear  at  the  outset, 
she  had  confided  to  Louie  at  once  that  she  herself  was 
"  partly  independent."  Seeing  Louie's  slightly  puzzled 
look,  she  had  gone  on  to  explain  that  by  this  she  meant 
that  she  enjoyed  an  income  of  perhaps  a  pound  a  week 
"  on  her  own."  With  this  title  to  consideration  thor- 
oughly understood,  she  went  ahead.  When  Louie  asked 
a  question  about  the  high-heeled  little  Cockney  Jewess, 
Miss  Levey,  Miss  Windus  answered  it  in  terms  of  her  own 
pound  a  week.  ' '  Miss  Levey  ? "  she  said.  Oh,  she'd  nothing ; 
she  lived  at  home  and  had  her  fees  paid  for  her,  of  course, 
and  wouldn't  stick  fast,  being  a  Jewess,  not  she  ;  but 
Kitty  didn't  suppose  Miriam  Levey  had  one  shilling  to  rub 
against  another;  not,  that  was,  "  on  her  own."  Louie, 
finding  other  questions  answered  from  this  same  standpoint, 
took  her  cue  and  framed  her  questions  accordingly.  Had 
the  other  female  student  (there  were  only  four  women), 
Miss  Soames,  anything  ?  Well,  Kitty  didn't  know ;  she 
fancied  her  aunt  must  have  a  tidy  bit  coming  in ;  they 


SUTHERLAND    PLACE  113 

lived  together  in  a  boarding-house  in  Woburn  Place,  and 
as  the  aunt  did  nothing  all  day  perhaps  she  too  was  partly- 
independent,  or  even  wholly  so.  Had  Mr  Merridew,  the 
swaggering  boy  who  cheapened  his  clothes  so  curiously,  a 
tidy  bit  coming  in  ?  Here  Kitty  evidently  had  a  tale  to 
tell.  Had  Archie  Merridew  a  bit  coming  in,  indeed ! 
Why,  his  father  was  Mr  Merridew  of  Merridew  and  Fry's, 
the  fancy  stationers  with  branches  everywhere,  so  Louie 
could  judge  for  herself  whether  that  meant  a  bit  or  not ! 
Archie  a  bit  ?  Why,  Mr  Merridew  Senior  had  retired,  and 
lived  at  a  big  place  near  Guildf  ord,  with  a  tennis-lawn,  if  you 
please.  Archie  Merridew  a  bit ! — Then  what  about  Mr 
Mackie  ?  (Louie  might  have  been  estimating  people  by 
what  money  they  had  all  her  life.) — Mr  Mackie  ?  No, 
Kitty  shouldn't  think  Mr  Mackie  had  very  much,  but  he 
had  a  splendid  "  permanency  "  offered  him  when  he  had 
passed  his  examinations,  as  an  auctioneer's  clerk,  four 
pounds  a  week  to  start  with — to  start  with,  mind  you — 
and  a  "  rise  "  every  year.  Yes ;  Mr  Mackie  was  all  right, 
and,  oh  dear  !  wasn't  Mr  Mackie  funny  ? 

Louie  thought  this  Mr  Mackie  more  than  funny ;  in  her 
inexperience  of  the  type  she  could  never  believe  he  was 
quite  true.  For  Mr  Mackie  sang  songs,  imitated  music- 
hall  artistes,  could  "  gag  "  for  a  whole  day  on  end,  and 
never  forget  for  a  moment  the  immense  success  he  was. 
He  fascinated  Louie.  "  Ladies  and  bipeds  in  trousers  !  " 
he  would  begin,  with  rapid  gestures  and  still  more  rapid 
speech,  "  before  the  applause  I  am  waiting  for  has  had  time 
to  subside — good  word,  subside — (thank  you,  Guthbert, 
you  can  take  the  bonquet  round  to  the  stage-door) — as  I 
was  saying  when  Fitzclarence  interrupted  me,  ladies  and 
tripeheads  in  blouses,  whoa,  backpedal,  never  mind — as 
I  was  saying,  I  will  now  endeavour  to  give  you  my  cele- 
brated imitation  of  Roderigo  the  gasfitter  at  one  o'clock 


114  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

on  a  Saturday  with  the  thirty  bob  in  his  pocket  and  Hilde- 
garde  Ann  his  wife  licking  the  paint  of  the  lamp-post  at  the 
corner  to  squench  her  thirst  —  heu,  her  thirst  !  .  .  .  Chord 
on,  please,  titillate  the  catgut,  Professor,  and  take  firm  hold 
of  his  hand,  girls  -  " 


while  the  eyes  of  Lord  Moone's  niece  would  grow 
bigger  and  bigger,  would  follow  the  performance. 

"  Isn't  he  funny  !  "  Kitty  would  giggle,  faint  with  laugh- 
ing ;  "  oh,  give  us  some  more,  Mr  Mackie  !  " 

And  Kitty,  like  Saint  Paul,  died  daily  at  yet  another 
trick  of  Mr  Mackie's  —  the  putting  of  his  handkerchief  to  his 
nose,  and  the  drawing  of  it  slowly  downwards  to  the  accom- 
paniment of  a  piercing  whistle. 

But  Louie  was  only  moderately  amused  by  young 
Merridew.  Mr  Mackie  had  his  own  perfection  ;  but  vulgarity 
with  a  tennis-lawn  !  "  Good  gracious,  no,"  said  Louie. 

She  had  entered  the  School  as  a  day  student  ;  but  within 
a  week  she  had  put  her  name  down  for  the  evening  classes 
also.  Even  then  she  had  the  evenings  of  Tuesdays, 
Thursdays,  Saturdays  and  the  whole  of  Sunday  quite 
unamusingly  on  her  hands.  She  did  not  want  time  on  her 
hands.  As  much  Mr  Mackie  as  you  pleased,  but  no  time 
on  her  hands.  So  she  joined  the  classes  that  met  on  the 
evenings  of  Mondays,  Wednesdays  and  Fridays. 

On  her  very  first  evening  she  saw  a  student  whom  she  had 
not  seen  before. 

She  had  taken  a  text-book  on  Elementary  Book-keeping 
from  one  of  the  shelves  of  the  E  of  books  in  which  she  had 
had  her  first  talk  with  Mr  Weston  (who,  by  the  way,  had 
said  that  he  would  like  to  see  her  for  a  few  minutes  before 
she  left  that  evening),  and  rinding  a  chair  within  the  recess, 
had  sat  down  where  she  was  to  read  it.  She  had  not  looked 
up  when  somebody  had  passed  the  mouth  of  her  little 
compartment  and  entered  the  next  one.  She  had  heard  a 


SUTHERLAND    PLACE  115 

book  taken  down  from  a  shelf  behind  her,  and,  after  some 
minutes,  put  back  again  ;  and  had  she  not  chanced  to 
straighten  her  back  at  that  moment  she  would  probably 
not  have  seen  the  man  repass.  She  had  no  time  to  notice 
more  than  that  he  was  very  big  and  not  very  well  dressed. 
She  went  on  with  her  reading,  wondering,  in  the  intervals 
of  her  slack  attention  to  her  book,  what  Mr  Weston  wanted 
with  her. 

She  saw  the  big  man  again  at  the  close  of  the  class. 
This  time  he  was  standing  at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  waiting 
for  young  Merridew.  He  really  was  immensely  big,  so  big 
that  a  too  prolonged  first  look  at  him  seemed  unpleasantly 
like  impertinent  curiosity.  Indeed,  he  seemed  already  to 
feel  her  eyes  upon  him,  for  he  moved  as  if  to  look  back  at 
her  in  turn  ;  but  young  Merridew  came  up  at  that  moment 
and  they  went  out  together.  The  big  man's  head  and 
shoulders  were  to  be  seen  beyond  the  handrail  for  quite  an 
appreciable  moment  of  time  after  young  Merridew's  had 
disappeared.  But  she  had  been  wrong  in  thinking  that  he 
wore  a  shabby  suit.  His  suit  might  be  shabby  also,  but 
it  could  not  be  seen.  He  wore,  and  had  apparently  worn 
in  class  also,  a  tawny  old  ulster  of  yellow  and  black  check. 
In  spite  of  its  age  it  seemed  somehow  a  better  garment  than 
did  the  more  expensive  clothes  of  his  companion.  He  did 
not,  however,  strike  her  as  very  amusing. 

She  turned  away  to  seek  the  Secretary  Bird — Mr  Weston. 

For  the  moment  Mr  Weston  was  engaged.  He  was  stand- 
ing near  the  lecture-room  blackboard,  talking  to  the  girl 
who  lived  with  her  partly  independent  aunt  at  the  boarding- 
house  in  Woburn  Place.  Louie  had  already  remarked  the 
likeness  of  this  girl,  who  might  have  been  twenty  but  looked 
younger,  to  Polly  Ross,  the  pretty  daughter  of  the  tipsy 
veterinary  surgeon  at  Trant.  Polly  too  had  sported  that 
running  of  pale  blue  ribbon  beneath  the  openwork  of  what 


116  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

Kitty  Windus  called  her  >"  pneumonia  blouse,"  and  the 
clumps  of  dark  hair  on  her  nape  too  was  like  Polly's,  and 
she  had  Polly's  dark  and  sidelong  glance,  and  highly 
conscious  air  of  unconsciousness  when  that  glance  had 
attracted  what  it  had  probably  been  meant  to  attract, 
attention  to  herself.  She  had  a  copy  of  the  Pansy  Library 
in  her  hand,  and  Louie  smiled  as  she  remembered  Burnett 
Minor  and  her  spoutings.  She  waited  until  Weston  should 
be  at  liberty. 

As  she  waited,  Kitty  Windus,  wearing  an  Inverness  cape 
and  a  boat-shaped  hat,  came  up.  Miss  Windus  lived  in  a 
street  off  Tottenham  Court  Road,  and  already  once  or 
twice  Louie  had  walked  with  her  as  far  as  the  Oxford 
corner.  She  was  waiting  for  the  Polly  Ross  girl  now,  whose 
direction  was  the  same.  She  asked  Louie  whether  she 
intended  to  walk  or  to  "  hop  on  a  bus."  She  always 
spoke  in  these  rather  sprightly  terms,  just  as  she  always 
stiffened  the  line  of  her  back  a  little  the  moment  a  man, 
any  man,  entered  the  room  ;  and  she  referred,  brightly  and 
hopefully,  to  proposals  of  marriage  as  "  chances."  Louie 
was  already  learning  when  she  might  expect  any  given  one 
of  Kitty's  innumerable  cliches,  and  had  several  times 
(humorously)  given  them  back  to  Kitty  again  with  com- 
plete success.  As  they  waited  for  the  Polly  Ross  girl  (whose 
name  was  Evie  Soarnes)  Louie  asked  Kitty  who  the  big 
man  who  had  gone  out  with  Mr  Merridew  was. 

"  Oh,  the  Mandrill !  "  said  Kitty,  laughing  even  before 
Louie  had  got  out  the  word  "  big."  "  That's  Mr  Jeffries. 
Isn't  he  a  caution  ?  But  he  only  comes  in  the  evenings." 

She  meant  that  Mr  Jeffries  had  not  a  pound  a  week  on  his 
own.  Students  who  only  came  in  the  evenings  were  of  a 
slightly  inferior  order  to  those  who  came  during  the  day. 

"  I  suppose  he  had  his  brown  paper  parcel  with  him  ?  " 
Kitty  said,  with  more  mirth  in  her  peering  little  eyes. 


SUTHERLAND    PLACE  117 

Louie  remembered  that  Mr  Jeffries  had  carried  a  brown 
paper  parcel.  Kitty  twittered. 

"  Bet  you  can't  guess  what  was  in  it — that  is,  if  you 
haven't  heard  it  ?  " 

She  said  "it "  as  if  it  had  been  a  riddle  or  some  sort  of 
a  joke.  Louie  admitted  that  she  could  not  guess  what  had 
been  in  Mr  Jeffries'  parcel. 

"  Good  old  brown  paper  parcel ! "  Kitty  chuckled, 
"  You'll  get  to  know  it  by-and-by  !  You  see,"  she  ex- 
plained, "  he  goes  to  Archie's  for  a  bath.  Isn't  it  killing  ?  " 

"  I — I  don't  quite  see  what  you  mean,"  said  Louie. 
She  honestly  did  not. 

"Why,  for  a  bath — you  know,  a  common  or  garden 
bath,  with  hot  water.  I  peeped  into  it  once  (the  parcel, 
I  mean ;  for  shame,  you  dreadful  girl !)  and  it  had  a  clean 
shirt  and  a  pair  of  socks  in  it.  I  suppose  he  wraps  those 
he  takes  off  up  when  he's  done." 

Louie's  eyes  had  opened  very  wide  indeed.  A  man  to 
have  to  ask  another  man  for  a  bath  !  Well,  that  was  some- 
thing learned  about  London  !  A  bath — a  thing  so  necessary 
that  its  existence  was  assumed — how  extremely  amusing  ! 
She  knew  that  entertaining  word,  "  poor,"  but  what  was 
this  other,  this  new  and  side-splitting  word  that  meant  that 
a  man  had  to  ask  another  man  for  a  bath  ?  She  had  never 
heard  of  anything  so — so — there  was  no  adjective  that 
quite  fitted  the  humour  of  it. 

The  next  moment  she  had  wasted  an  irony  on  Kitty. 

"  Hasn't  he — a  tidy  bit  ?  "  she  asked. 

But  it  took  far  more  than  this  to  get  through  Kitty's 
hide.  She  gave  another  little  laugh  and  drew  her  gloves 
more  smoothly  over  her  thin  hands. 

"  Him  ?  The  Mandrill  ?  (I  always  call  him  the 
Mandrill,  my  dear.)  Not  a  penny  to  bless  himself  with; 
look  at  him  !  " 


118  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

"  Nor  a  permanency  ?  "  Louie  asked. 

"  What,  with  those  clothes  ?  I  ask  you,  now :  it  isn't 
a  cold  night  to-night,  is  it  ?  Well,  why  does  he  keep  that 
heavy  old  coat  on  all  the  evening  ?  Enough  said,  my  dear. 
He  works  somewhere  in  the  City,  I  believe — '  something 
in  the  City ' — sounds  most  prosperous,  doesn't  it  ?  And 
Archie's  awful  kind  to  him,  I  think,  but  of  course  he  is 
frightfully  clever,  and  does  help  Archie  with  his  work  some- 
times, so  Archie  gives  him  a  bath  (I  don't  mean  what  you 
mean,  I  mean  let's  him  have  one).  Here's  Evie.  Are  you 
coming  along  ?  " 

But  Louie,  besides  being  tickled,  smarted  a  little  too. 
To  have  to  beg  for  a  bath — and  then  to  have  the  gift  made 
a  matter  of  common  knowledge  and  a  joke  ! — 

Well,  if  these  people  were  different,  differences,  after  all, 
were  what  she  was  here  to  see. 

She  turned  to  Mr  Weston. 

What  Mr  Weston  wanted  to  say  to  her  she  could  not 
guess  ;  but  he  had  hardly  spoken  twenty  words  before  she 
was  smiling  at  herself  for  not  guessing.  The  examinations 
were  to  be  held  just  before  Christmas,  and  unless  Louie  could 
be  ready  for  her  Elementary  by  that  time  she  would  have  a 
good  many  months  to  wait  before  she  could  enter  for  the 
examination  again.  What  Mr  Weston  had  to  propose  was, 
in  a  word,  that  he  should  coach  her  privately. 

She  knew  what  that  meant.  It  meant  that  he  would  come 
to  Sutherland  Place  on  Sundays  and  talk  about  Bichenda. 

Well,  even  talk  about  Kichenda  would  make  shorter  that 
dies  now. 

"  It  really  would  be  a  great  furtherance  of  your  aims,  Miss 
Causton,"  Weston  said  wistfully. 

Louie  smiled  at  the  periphrasis,  and  then  considered. 

"  It  might  be  the  best  thing  to  do,"  she  said  ;  "  but  of 
course  I  should  accept  it  only  on  one  condition." 


SUTHERLAND    PLACE  119 

"  May  I  venture  to  inquire  what  that  condition  is  ?  " 
Weston  inquired  deferentially. 

"  That  you  let  me  pay  you  for  it,"  said  Louie  promptly. 

But  Weston  put  up  a  peremptory  hand.  "  Oh  no — no,  no, 
no — I  should  be  ashamed  after  all  your  kindnesses " 

Louie  laughed  again.     "  Good  gracious,  what  kindnesses?" 

"  Ah,  you  once  shielded  an  individual  very  dear  to  me 

and  took  the  blame  upon  yourself,  Miss  Caustor "  His 

tone  was  reverential,  his  eyes  did  her  homage.  Louie  had 
forgotten  all  about  the  box-room  rebellion  and  Mrs 
Lovenant-Smith.  She  laughed  once  more. 

"  Well,  just  as  you  like.  But  no  pay,  no  coaching,  that's 
all." 

Weston  sighed.  No  doubt  his  acquiescence  cost  him  a 
pang.  If  he  took  money  for  giving  lessons,  lessons  he  must 
give,  and  the  talk  about  Eichenda  must  go. 

"  Do  you  dwell  on  the  point  with  insistence  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Very  much." 

"  I  am  far  from  denying  that  it  would  be  of  some  assistance 
in  the  furnishing  of  our  future  nest,  if  I  may  use  the  ex- 
pression  " 

"  Of  course  it  would.    So  that's  agreed  ?  " 

"  So  be  it,"  said  Weston. 

Louie  half  expected  him  to  add  :  "  Amen." 

She  was  in  the  habit  of  dispensing  money  a  little  largely, 
and  for  the  present  she  could  quite  well  afford  to  do  this. 
For  Chaff  had  done  more  than  pay  his  debt.  That  very  day 
she  had  had  a  letter  from  him,  forwarded  by  the  bank.  He 
had  paid  one  hundred  pounds  into  her  account,  asking  her 
to  regard  the  extra  twenty-five  pounds  as  interest  on  his 
unceremonious  borrowing.  But  she  did  not  for  a  moment 
believe  his  cheerful  tale  that  "  things  were  all  right  again 
now  "  ;  poor  old  boy,  ten  to  one  he  had  borrowed  pretty 
ruinously  elsewhere  in  order  to  pay  her.  At  all  events, 


120  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

Weston  should  not  give  up  his  Sundays  for  nothing,  and  she 
might,  after  all,  allow  him  an  outpouring  about  Bichenda 
and  the  future  nest  once  in  a  while.  It  was  only  half-a- 
crown  a  week. 

But  as  she  left  Weston  she  was  thinking  of  something  else 
that  half-a-crown  a  week  had  power  to  buy.  Half-a-crown 
a  week  would  have  bought  this  big  shabby  student  a  bath 
almost  every  day. 

To  have  to  carry  a  change  of  underclothing  in  a  brown 
paper  parcel  to  another  man's  place 

And  to  have  that  parcel  peeped  into 

How  damnable — no,  how  funny,  she  meant ! 

In  the  light  of  her  knowledge  of  this  extraordinary 
economy  Mr  Jeffries  had  to  practise  she  felt — she  didn't  know 
why — almost  shy  in  his  presence  the  next  time  she  saw  him. 
She  felt  that  she  possessed  something  of  his — namely,  this 
knowledge — which  she  ought  not  to  have  possessed.  She 
wondered  whether  he  knew  how  he  had  been  given  away. 
Something  about  him  almost  suggested  that  he  might. 

Perhaps  it  was  his  mouth.  It  looked,  except  when  he 
deliberately  opened  it,  as  if  it  might  very  well  not  have 
opened  during  the  whole  of  the  twenty-eight  or  twenty-nine 
years  Louie  guessed  him  to  have  had  a  mouth  at  all.  The 
rest  of  his  face,  which  would  have  been  too  large  for  any 
man  less  huge,  was  an  unrelenting  slab.  It  was  in  the  mouth 
if  anywhere  that  sensitiveness  must  be  looked  for.  Certainly 
there  was  none  in  the  eyes.  These  Louie  found  (it  was  on  a 
Wednesday  night  that  she  noticed  these  things  ;  she  had  seen 
him  first  on  a  Monday)  remarkable.  They  were  the  eyes  of 
a  lion — clear  amber,  sherry-coloured.  They  were  made 
more  than  ever  to  resemble  the  eyes  of  a  lion  by  that  tawny 
ulster  he  never  removed,  and  she  remembered  Kitty's 
sinister  and  mirthful  suggestion.  Did  his  keeping  on  of  that 
ulster  mean  something  hardly  less  stark  and  laughable  than 


SUTHERLAND    PLACE  121 

the  circumstance  of  the  bath  itself  ?  (Louie  felt  that  she 
was  learning.)  Then  she  noticed  his  hands.  She  always 
noticed  hands.  He  stopped  in  passing  to  pick  up  a  pen  for 
her.  The  hand  that  returned  it  was  not  only  a  magnificent 
engine  of  sinew  and  bone  and  muscle,  powerful  and  heroic  ; 
it  was  also  (this  was  not  so  funny)  exquisitely  kept.  Her 
own  hand,  pale  and  slender  as  the  leaf  of  a  willow  by  contrast 
with  his,  was  not  in  its  different  way  more  perfect.  He 
might  cadge  for  a  bath,  but  his  hands  he  could  look  after 
himself  for  nothing.  And  that  was  true  of  his  hair  also.  It 
was  tawny,  close-cut,  and  took  the  light  as  cleanly  as  a  new 
silk  hat ;  hair-brushing  was  evidently  cheap  also.  The  man 
did  what  he  could.  She  would  have  liked  to  hear  his  voice, 
but  he  handed  her  the  pen  in  silence  and  passed  on. 

"  Well,  he  looks  forbidding,"  was  her  comment  on  him 
as  the  great  church-door  of  his  back  disappeared  into  the 
typewriting-room,  "and  he  has  got  too  big  a  face  and  a  rather 
frightening  jaw  ;  but  he  does  shave  it  properly,  and  I  don't 
see  where  the  '  Mandrill '  comes  in — wretched  little  creature 
with  her  pound  a  week  !  And  he  is  like  a  lion,  with  those 
eyes  and  that  ulster " 

And  merely  because  he  seemed  to  be  a  person  to  be  scored 
off  and  given  meanly  away,  she  was  already  prepared,  had 
she  been  challenged,  to  vow  that  he  was  handsome — in  his 
heavy  and  unhumorous  way.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  if  Roy 
Lovenant-Smith  resembled  the  little  terra-cotta  head  in  the 
Tanagra  Gallery  of  the  Museum,  this  Mr  Jeffries  suggested 
something  from  the  Assyrian  Gallery  downstairs — something 
in  black  basalt,  that  might  carry  the  doorway  of  a  temple  on 
its  head.  In  any  case,  with  the  ulster,  the  eyes,  and  the 
silky  tawny  hair,  he  was  as  like  a  lion  as  needs  be. 

When  she  had  seen  him  twice  only  she  took  it  upon  herself 
to  snub  young  Merridew  on  his  behalf. 

She  and  Kitty  were  leaving  the  School  at  four  o'clock  on 


122  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

the  Thursday  afternoon  when  the  son  of  the  fancy  stationer 
joined  them,  and,  taking  it  quite  for  granted  that  his  tidy 
bit  and  his  tennis-lawn  made  him  as  desirable  to  Louie  as 
they  evidently  exalted  hirft  in  Kitty's  eyes,  walked  west- 
wards along  Holborn  with  them.  He  wore  a  new  red  waist- 
coat with  brass  buttons,  and  perhaps  it  was  in  order  to  live 
up  to  this  splendour  that  he  made  Louie  an  offer  which  she 
curtly  declined.  They  were  passing  a  confectioner's  shop  ; 
perhaps  he  noticed — for  he  seemed  a  sharp  enough  little 
bounder — Louie's  glance  at  the  window  ;  he  turned  to  her. 

"  Like  some  chocs  ?  "  he  said. 

Had  Louie  not  already  detested  him,  this  would  have  been 
quite  enough.  Priddy  would  have  had  less  appalling 
manners.  As  it  happened,  she  would  have  liked  some 
chocolates  ;  lately  she  had  craved  for  chocolates  as  much  as 
she  had  hated  the  smell  of  tobacco  ;  but  she  wanted  no 
chocolates  of  this  young  man's  buying. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  she  replied  ;  and  presently  she  con- 
trived to  put  Kitty  (the  straight-backed  Kitty  whom  a  man 
accompanied)  between  Mr  Merridew  and  herself. 

She  had  the  outside  berth  of  the  pavement,  and  she  was 
wondering  whether  she  would  not  cross  the  road  and  hop  on 
a  bus,  leaving  Kitty  and  the  heir  to  the  tennis-lawn  together, 
when  something  Kitty  said  detained  her.  It  was  some- 
thing about  Mr  Jeffries.  Hitherto  Louie  had  hardly  been 
listening. 

"  —  oh,  Jeff  !  "  Merridew  was  saying.  "  He'll  have  to 
go  till  we  come  back.  Anyway  I  shall  save  half -a -cake  of 
soap." 

"  There's  such  a  lot  of  him,"  Kitty  giggled.  "  How  big's 
your  bath  ?  " 

"  Well,  he's  an  awfully  useful  coach  for  the  Method  exam., 
I  will  say  that  for  him  ;  so  we'll  call  it  a  fair  swap.  You 
know  Evie's  aunt,  don't  you  ?  " 


SUTHERLAND    PLACE  123 

"  No." 

"  Thought  you  did.  Good  old  Aunt  Angela  !  (She  always 
gets  ratty  when  I  call  her  that.)  I  didn't  know  she  was  an 
old  friend  of  the  pater's  till  we  saw  'em  at  the  Zoo  that 
Sunday.  So  that's  why  they're  coming." 

"  Oh,  perhaps,  perhaps  not,"  said  Kitty  archly.  "  Per- 
haps it  isn't  the  aunt  they  want  to  see ' 

A  passer-by  elbowed  Louie  off  the  pavement ;  all  she 
caught  of  what  followed  was  Kitty's  laugh. 

"  So  that  accounts  for  the  new  blouse  !  You  never  think 
of  asking  me  down  to  Guildf  ord,  Archie !  "  she  said  reproach- 
fully. 

"  You  must  get  a  chaperon,"  Archie  replied  gallantly  ; 
"can't  be  did  without,  Kitt-oh.  The  mater  don't  allow 
running  after  yours  truly." 

Then  of  another  light  passage  Louie  heard  only  the  con- 
cluding laugh. 

"  Well,  what  of  it  ?  "  Archie  was  saying  knowingly  ;  and 
Louie  heard  something  else  about  apron-strings.  "  Pale 
blue  baby  ribbon  ones,  eh  what  ? "  Archie  added,  with  a 
grin. 

"  Archie  !  "   Kitty  reproved  him. 

"  Oh,  come  off  it !  "  replied  the  fancy  stationer's  son. 
"  As  if  a  fellow  hadn't  eyes  !  If  you  girls  will  wear  pneu- 
monia blouses " 

"  Archie,  you're  dreadful ! "  said  Kitty,  deliciously 
shocked. 

"  Well,  it's  a  tannersworth  at  the  Holborn  Public  Baths 
for  Jeff  next  week-end " 

Here  Louie  interposed.  Even  amusement  can  be  too  rich . 
"  Good-bye,"  she  said,  "  there's  my  bus." 

She  heard  Kitty  call  after  her  something  about  the  penny 
stage,  but  by  that  time  she  was  half-way  across  the  road. 

Brass-buttoned  little  beast ! 


124  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

She  got  on  her  bus. 

But  a  quarter  of  a  mile  farther  on  she  descended  from  it 
again.  She  wanted  to  buy  chocolates  for  herself.  She 
bought  them,  walked  to  the  Marble  Arch,  and  there  turned 
into  the  Park.  She  ate  the  chocolates  as  she  walked. 

Little  animal !  He  appeared  to  keep  the  whole  School 
posted  about  Mr  Jeffries'  personal  habits.  He  could  not 
go  down  to  his  home  for  the  week-end,  taking  the  Polly  Ross 
girl  and  her  aunt  with  him  apparently,  but  Mr  Jeffries  and 
half-a-cake  of  soap  must  be  dragged  in.  And  that  pathetic, 
pathetic  care  the  man  took  of  his  hair  and  hands  !  For  all 
that,  as  she  strode  along,  crunching  her  chocolates,  she 
became  almost  angry  with  him  too.  Was  soap  so  frightfully 
dear,  and  was  there  no  water  anywhere  but  at  Mr  Merridew's 
rooms  ?  She  could  not  understand  a  man  who  had  any 
sensitiveness  at  all  suffering  his  mind  to  be  turned  over  and 
inspected  and  thumb-marked  by  these  people  in  this  way. 

Still,  she  must  not  forget  that  these  things  were  diverting. 

There  was  no  class  that  night :  Louis  forced  herself  to 
apply  herself  to  her  book-keeping  until  half-past  nine,  and 
then  went  to  bed.  That,  as  has  been  said,  was  on  a  Thursday. 
On  the  following  evening,  feeling  indisposed  to  work,  she 
moved  about  the  School,  amusing  herself  to  her  heart's 
content.  She  was  getting  adept  in  the  sport  of  it.  She 
bandied  back  to  Kitty  Windus,  with  whom  she  found  herself 
in  talk,  half-a-score  of  her  own  expressions  :  "  Beg  yours," 
"  Granted,"  "  As  the  poet  says,"  and  the  like  ;  and  she  all 
but  openly  stalked  Mr  Mackie  for  the  sake  of  the  pearls  that 
rippled  from  his  lips.  If  Mr  Mackie  had  offered  to  take 
her  for  a  walk  or  to  a  shilling  hop  at  the  Holborn  Town  Hall 
on  the  next  blank  evening,  Lord  Moone's  niece,  who  must 
allow  no  chance  of  amusement  to  slip  her,  would  have  let 
him.  Indeed,  she  was  in  two  minds  whether  or  not  to  go  to 
this  last  place  of  entertainment  alone. 


SUTHERLAND    PLACE  125 

It  was  not  for  another  week  that  her  amusement  at  the 
School  in  general  and  at  Mr  Jeffries  in  particular  became 
almost  painfully  ecstatic. 


Ill 


ON  that  Friday  afternoon  she  did  not  go  home  as  usual  to 
Sutherland  Place  to  tea.  She  went  instead  to  the  tea-shop 
across  the  street  the  waitresses  of  which  seemed  to  crowd 
upon  her  as  if  the  width  of  Holborn  did  not  exist.  As  she 
sat  down  at  her  little  marble  table  she  glanced  involuntarily 
across  to  the  windows  of  the  Business  School  and  for  a 
moment  dropped  the  mask  to  herself.  "  Dingy  place  !  "  she 
thought ;  "  well,  we're  a  dingy  crew  inside  it."  Then,  after 
a  long,  long  walk  down  Chancery  Lane  and  along  the 
Embankment  almost  as  far  as  the  ship-breakers'  yard  at 
Millbank,  she  returned  to  evening  class. 

It  was  the  evening  before  the  day  when  Polly  Ross — she 
begged  her  pardon,  Miss  Evie  Soames — was  to  go  with  her 
aunt  to  the  house  with  the  tennis-lawn  at  Guildford.  Young 
Merridew  was  not  at  the  School  that  evening ;  indeed,  he 
had  only  been  once  in  the  evening  all  the  week,  and  then, 
Louie  had  thought  (dropping  the  mask  for  another  moment) 
he  had  better  have  stopped  away.  In  a  word,  she  had  not 
been  sure  that  he  had  been  entirely  sober.  But  perhaps  in 
that  she  had  been  wrong.  It  didn't  matter.  She  set  a  wide 
difference  between  the  gaieties  of  the  sons  of  fancy  stationers 
with  a  tidy  bit  coming  in  and  such  diversions  as  that  to 
which  her  stepfather  had  once  taken  her,  pigtail  and  all. 
Besides,  if  people  didn't  drink  liquor  she  supposed  her  father 
would  not  be  able  to  sell  it. 

On  two  occasions  already  during  the  past  week  that  mask 
of  her  amusement  had  not  so  much  fallen  off  as  been  twitched 


126  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

oS  before  she  herself  had  been  aware.  Very  remarkably, 
both  times  the  big  leonine  student,  Mr  Jeffries,  had  been  the 
twitcher.  In  both  cases  the  actual  incident  had  been  the 
same — a  glance,  nothing  more.  But  those  two  glances  had 
set  Louie  very  curiously  indeed  waiting  to  see  whether  a 
third  surprise  of  the  same  funny  kind  would  follow 
them. 

The  glances  had  been  given  by  Mr  Jefiries,  and  they  had 
been  directed  towards  the  Soames  girl.  There  had  seemed  to 
Louie  to  be  an  extraordinary  unfitness  about  them.  Had 
the  red-waistcoated  boy  stolen  those  glances  Louie  would 
have  thought  no  more  about  it ;  he  and  Polly  Ross  were 
pretty  much  a  pair  ;  but  they  had  surprised  her  coming  from 
the  other.  Louie  had  been  sure  that  on  the  first  occasion 
Mr  Jefiries  had  fancied  himself  to  be  unobserved,  for  he  had 
looked  stealthily  round  about  him,  had  waited  for  a  moment, 
and  then,  moving  his  eyes  only,  had  given  that  long,  slow, 
daring,  masterful  look.  This  had  been  on  the  previous 
Monday  evening,  in  the  general  room.  A  few  minutes  later 
Mr  Jefiries  had  gathered  up  his  papers  and  had  stridden  past 
Evie  Soames  as  if  he  had  been  unaware  of  her  existence. 

Even  had  something  very  similar  not  occurred  again  on 
the  Wednesday  evening,  Louie  would  hardly  have  forgotten 
that  look  ;  but  it  had  been  repeated.  But  this  time,  finding 
Louie's  eyes  on  him,  he  had  seemed  to  guard  himself,  to  busy 
himself  quite  fussily  with  his  papers,  and  a  little  to  overdo 
his  sudden  affectation  of  indifference.  Louie  admitted  that 
it  would  be  at  her  own  risk  that  she  put  any  interpretation 
that  was  not  amusing  on  these  trifles  ;  but  about  the  glances, 
their  surreptitiousness  and  the  man's  deliberate  attempt  at 
concealment,  there  had  been  no  doubt  whatever.  Polly 
herself,  Louie  had  to  admit,  had  been  quite  unconscious  of 
either  look.  To  all  appearances,  she  had  been  thinking  of 
nothing  but  of  the  new  novelette  in  the  Pansy  Library,  or 


SUTHERLAND    PLACE  127 

else  wondering  whether  the  new  pair  of  shoes  she  was  to  go 
down  to  G-uildford  in  would  come  home  in  time. 

On  that  Friday  evening  Louie  again  found  herself  a  little 
less  inclined  for  amusement  than  she  knew  to  be  good  for 
her.  She  supposed  she  ought  to  work,  for  if  book-keeping 
and  typewriting  and  so  forth  were  to  be  her  living  they  might 
just  as  well  be  taken  seriously ;  but  she  preferred  to  work 
where  gossip  was  going  on.  So  she  began  the  evening  in  one 
of  the  bays  in  the  E  of  reference  books,  where  Miss  Windus 
and  the  thick-lipped  Miss  Levey  were  sitting  on  the  short 
library-ladder,  whispering  and  tittering.  Louie  opened  one 
of  the  windows,  for  she  found  the  place  airless,  and  then 
idled  towards  her  two  fellow-students. 

She  had  gathered  that  Miss  Levey  did  not  like  her.  Miriam 
Levey  was  far  less  stupid  than  Kitty  Windus,  and  it  was  not 
safe  to  hand  her  cliches  back  to  her.  Indeed,  she  had  given 
Louie  a  far  too  intelligent  look  when  Louie  had  gratified  this 
hunger  for  humour  of  hers  at  the  unconscious  Kitty's  ex- 
pense ;  and  Louie  had  told  herself  that  it  might  be  as  well 
to  be  a  little  more  careful.  They  looked  up  as  Louie  joined 
them,  but  did  not  exclude  her  from  their  talk. 

"  I  mil  find  out  who  she  is  !  "  Miss  Levey  was  saying — 
her  W's  did  sometimes  become  Vs.  "  I  shall  plague  him 
till  I  do  !  " 

"  He  won't  tell  you,  my  dear — not  if  he  wouldn't  tell 
Archie." 

"  But  did  Archie  actually  say  '  engaged  '  ?  " 

"  Well,  a  person's  either  engaged  or  not,  I  suppose." 

"  Oh  no,  my  dear,  not  by  long  chalks  !  Vy,  you  might  as 
well  say  that  Archie  and  Evie  are  either  engaged  or  not !  " 

"  Well,  they  aren't— yet." 

"  '  Yet  '—there  you  are  !  " 

"  Well,  I'll  bet  they  aren't,  even  after  this  week-end. 
Why,  they're  no  age !  /  don't  believe  in  getting  yourself 


128  THE    STORY    OF    LOUIE 

engaged  and  done  for  before  you've  had  a  good  look  round  !  " 
Kitty  tossed  her  head. 

"  Vill  you  bet  they  aren't  engaged  in  three  months  ?  " 
said  Miriam  Levey. 

No,  Kitty  wouldn't  bet  that.  She  returned  to  the 
original  subject,  whatever  that  had  been. 

"  It's  all  very  well  to  say  you'll  find  out,  Miriam,  but — 
how  ?  " 

Miss  Levey  tittered,  and  then  suddenly  said  :  "  Ssss — I'll 
show  you  now  !  Just  you  watch  me — 

She  slipped  noiselessly  round  to  the  cords  of  the  window 
Louie  had  opened  a  few  moments  before. 

No  doubt  her  sharp  eyes  had  seen  Mr  Jeffries  approach. 
She  gave  him  a  helpless  look,  and  he  took  the  cords  from  her 
fumbling  hands  and  closed  the  window  for  her.  It  was  the 
more  cleverly  done  that  she  detained  Mr  Jeffries  and  managed 
to  get  closed  the  window  which  Louie  wanted  open  at  one 
and  the  same  time.  She  turned  her  prominent  brown  eyes 
in  gratitude  to  Mr  Jeffries. 

"  Oh,  thank  you  so  much  !  You  see,  I've  got  rather  a 
cold,  and  I'm  going  to  a  dance  and  don't  vant  to  make  it 
any  vorse,"  she  explained.  "  You  don't  dance,  do  you,  Mr 
Jeffries  ?  " 

But  Mr  Jeffries  merely  replied  "  No,"  and  turned  away 
at  once.  Miss  Levey  turned  to  Kitty  again. 

"  He  needn't  think  he's  put  me  off  !  "  she  said.  "  I  vill 
find  out !  I  shall  offer  him  some  tickets  now,  for  self  and 
lady.  And  I  bet  if  she  dances  I'll  make  him  buy  them  !  " 

Kitty  tossed  her  head.  "  7  should  expect  the  gentleman 
/  was  engaged  to  to  take  me  to  dances,"  she  said. 

"  But  Archie  didn't  say '  engaged.'  Just  after  somebody, 
I  should  say — and  don't  I  just  vish  her  joy  !  " 

"  It's  evidently  nobody  at  the  School,"  mused  Kitty 
Windus.  "  Archie  was  almost  certain  about  that." 


SUTHERLAND    PLACE  129 

"  Veil,  it  isn't  me,  if  you're  thinking  of  suspecting  me  !  " 
said  Miss  Levey  merrily.  "  7  vouldn't  touch  him  with  the 
end  of  a  long  pole." 

"  Chance  is  a  fine  thing,  my  dear,"  remarked  Miss  Windus. 

"  Opportunity's  another."  (This  reply,  Louie  had  noted, 
was  de  rigueur.) 

"  I  expect  she  types  or  something  at  his  place  in  the 
City." 

"  She  might  be  in  an  A.B.C.  shop — no,  a  Lockhart's." 

"  Or  a  barmaid,"  Kitty  hinted. 

"  Or  his  vashervoman." 

"  Oh,  I  expect  he  washes  his  own  shirts." 

"  Perhaps  he'll  vash  her  blouses,  too,  whoever  she  is." 

They  both  laughed. 

Louie,  her  mask  once  more  a  little  out  of  place,  turned 
suddenly  away. 

Little  as  she  had  been  inclined  to  work,  she  was  now, 
somehow  or  other,  not  much  more  inclined  for  amusement. 
She  wandered  into  the  shorthand  dictation  class,  but  in  a 
few  minutes  came  out  again.  Then  she  walked  into  the 
lecture-room,  where  some  example  or  other  had  been  left 
chalked  up  on  the  big  blackboard  from  the  last  lesson. 
Thence  she  went  into  the  typewriting-room,  and  back  to 
the  lecture-room  again.  Finally  she  got  from  the  "  library  " 
— the  little  back  room  where  the  files  and  presses  and  gela- 
tine copiers  and  a  few  books  were  kept — a  number  of  old 
examination  papers,  and,  finding  a  chair  near  the  folding 
door  that  divided  the  lecture-room  from  the  general-room, 
sat  down  and  began  to  turn  them  over. 

But  she  thought  more  of  the  conversation  she  had  just 
overheard  than  she  did  of  the  examination  papers.  It  had 
meant,  as  far  as  she  had  been  able  to  make  it  out,  that  Mr 
Jeffries  had  told  young  Merridew  that  he  was  engaged, 
or  hoped  to  be  engaged,  to  somebody  outside  the  school 


130  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

altogether.  That  sounded — odd.  Of  course  if  Mr  Jeffries 
said  so,  Mr  Jeffries  ought  to  know  ;  but  it  is  a  difficult 
matter  to  disbelieve  your  own  eyes.  She  supposed  she 
had  no  choice  but  to  disbelieve  them,  but — but — there  were 
those  two  glances  he  had  given  at  the  Polly  Ross  girl — 
whom,  by  the  way,  she  must  learn  to  call  by  her  proper 
name,  Miss  Evie  Soames. 

Louie  was  perfectly  certain  that  she  had  not  been  mis- 
taken in  the  nature  of  those  two  glances.  Her  reason  for 
certitude  was  quite  unassailable.  She  had  known  what  they 
meant  for  the  simple  reason  that  she  had  never  received 
such  looks  from  a  man  herself. 

Suddenly  she  dropped  this  mask  of  fevered  amusement 
entirely.  As  she  had  once  sat  on  the  stile  between  Rain- 
ham  Parva  and  the  sea,  so  Louie  now  sat  by  the  folding 
door — relaxed,  thinking  of  nothing,  or,  if  of  anything, 
certainly  neither  of  her  late  resolute  pose  nor  yet  of  study. 
Her  mind  was  what  she  had  determined  it  should  not  be  if 
she  could  help  it — an  empty  chamber  for  unknown  devils 
to  enter. 

Students  passed  and  repassed.  Weston  had  been  through 
several  times,  and  twice  Evie  Soames  had  come  and  gone 
again.  This  so-much-talked-of  Mr  Jeffries  went  into  the 
library  for  a  book  and  walked  past  with  it  again.  He  still 
wore  that  concealing  ulster  ;  the  Soames  girl  had  on  a 
brown  tailor-made  and  a  cap  of  knitted  white  wool.  Louie 
was  hardly  conscious  that  she  noticed  these  things.  She 
still  sat,  all  slack  and  unbraced,  with  the  examination 
papers  on  her  knee. 

All  at  once  she  came  to  herself.  Why  she  should  do  so 
at  that  particular  moment  she  did  not  know,  but,  doing  so, 
she  found  herself  completely  awake  again.  To  all  intents 
and  purposes  she  had  come  out  of  one  of  those  naps  which, 
lasting  perhaps  only  a  minute,  have  all  the  effect  of  a 


SUTHERLAND    PLACE  131 

refreshing  sleep.  She  could  reassume  her  mask  now.  Evie 
Soames  was  talking  to  Weston  by  the  blackboard  ;  op- 
posite her,  a  pale  student  called  Richardson  was  copying 
down  an  exercise  from  a  sheet  on  the  wall ;  and  she  sup- 
posed Mr  Jeffries  would  be  bringing  his  book  back  presently. 
Louie  was  as  alive  to  her  surroundings  now  as  she  had  been 
oblivious  to  them  a  few  moments  before. 

A  minute  later  Mr  Jeffries,  returning  with  his  book, 
passed  into  the  library.  A  few  seconds  later  still  Evie 
Soames  had  left  Mr  Weston  and  had  followed  him. 

"  Now,"  thought  Louie,  "  for  a  little  more  amusement." 

The  library  had  only  one  communicating  door  ;  its  other 
door  led  only  to  a  small  room  called  the  old  ledger-room,  a 
dusty  cubby-hole,  seldom  entered,  that  had  no  outlet  save 
the  small  pivoted  window,  high  up,  that  gave  on  the  head 
of  the  stairs.  Mr  Jeffries  and  Miss  Soames  would  have 
to  come  out  by  the  same  way  they  had  entered,  and  Louie 
rather  wanted  to  seem  them  come  out.  It  was  no  business 
of  hers,  but  she  had  remembered  those  two  glances  and 
the  conversation  between  Kitty  Windus  and  Miriam  Levey, 
and  she  had  a  perfect  right  to  sit  by  the  folding  door  and  to 
use  her  eyes  if  she  wished.  She  was  now  almost  preter- 
naturally  awake.  No  jot  of  the  jest,  whatever  it  was, 
should  escape  her. 

Evie  came  out  first,  after  four  or  five  minutes  ;  but  Louie 
was  not  interested  in  Evie.  She  was  merely  a  dull  tale : 
Louie  wanted  to  see  him. 

Then,  a  moment  later,  he  came. 

But  no  amusement  came  with  him.  Instead,  Louie  knew 
not  what  sudden  private  ache  stirred  deep  at  her  own  heart. 
It  was  not  a  question  of  those  two  furtive,  possessive  glances 
now.  Unmistakable  enough  those  had  been ;  you  do  not 
mistake  the  kind  of  glance  for  which  you  yourself  have 
hungered  when  you  see  it  given  to  another ;  but  not  only 


132  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

had  Louie  never  seen — she  had  never,  not  even  in  her  own 
rapt  dreamings  as  a  half -grown  girl  in  her  teens,  thought  it 
possible  that  a  man's  look  at  a  woman  could  change  his 
face  as  this  man's  face  was  changed  now.  It  was  irradiated, 
transfigured.  He  took  no  pains  now  to  hide  it.  He  could 
see  clear  down  the  room  before  him — could  see  (or  so  he 
evidently  thought)  any  who  saw  him 

And  since  he  did  not  see  Louie  by  the  folding  door,  Louie 
knew  that  in  his  former  passings  and  repassings  he  could 
not  have  seen  her  either. 

He  disappeared.  The  Soames  girl  was  waiting  by  the 
door,  evidently  for  him.  No  doubt  he  was  going  to  see  her 
home.  Probably  she  would  have  preferred  the  other,  the 
little  cad  with  the  red  waistcoat,  but  she  had  the  lion 

He  returned,  with  his  hat  on,  and  they  left  together. 

But  what  had  brought  that  sudden  ache  into  Louie's 
breast  ?  Mr  Jeffries  was  nothing  to  her.  If  his  face  shone, 
Louie's  heart  need  not  therefore  ache.  What  ailed  her  ? 

Unmasked,  as  alive  to  things  within  herself  now  as  she 
had  just  been  to  things  outside  herself,  she  sat,  deeply 
wondering. 

Against  the  wall  at  her  left  hand  there  stood  a  tall  station- 
ery cupboard.  It  had  glazed  doors,  and  the  pale  student 
called  Richardson,  coming  up  a  moment  ago  to  put  his 
exercise-book  back  into  its  place,  had  left  one  of  the  doors 
open.  The  door  moved  on  its  hinges  back  into  its  place. 
With  its  motion  there  swung  slowly  into  Louie's  view  the 
reflection  of  the  grimy  chandelier  with  its  three  naked  gas- 
jets. 

Was  it  this  that  reminded  her  of  the  night  when  she  had 
swept  out  of  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith's  French  window  with 
the  yellow-shaded  standard  lamp  mirrored  in  its  pane  ? 

It  had  been  on  that  night 


SUTHERLAND    PLACE  133 

Suddenly  her  eyes  closed,  as  if  closed  eyes  could  have  shut 
out  a  mental  picture.  Her  lips  trembled — voicelessly  they 
shaped  a  name. 

It  was  the  name  of  Roy. 

Hitherto  she  had  hardly  known  what  her  feelings  towards 
Roy  really  were.  It  had  been  in  ord  jr  to  avoid  asking  her- 
self that  question,  among  others,  that  she  had  amused  her- 
self with  Kitty  Windus  and  welcomed  the  buffooneries  of 
Mr  Mackie.  But  it  presented  itself  to  her  startlingly  now. 
Her  own  complete  ignorance  had  just  revealed  a  shining 
thing  to  her,  the  beautiful  thing  that  had  transformed 
Mr  Jeffries'  face  ;  now — handy-dandy — that  very  trans- 
formation threw  her  brutally  back  on  her  ignorance 
again. 

She  had  thought  she  had  sounded  a  mystery  ;  had  she, 
after  all,  not  sounded  any  mystery,  and  was  she  to  pay  in 
labour  and  pain  for  nothing  ? 

Her  thoughts  had  flown  back  ;  they  remained  where  they 
had  flown.  Good  gracious  !  What  an  escapade  !  Without 
mercy  for  herself  she  examined  it.  What  had  really  hap- 
pened ?  Anything  worth  what  it  was  about  to  cost  ? 

The  radiant  look  of  another  man  at  another  woman 
answered  her :  No. 

She  had  courted  him — what  a  conquest !  She  had  made 
him  say  she  was  pretty — what  a  victory  !  She  had  schemed, 
planned,  ensured  her  kisses — what  a  triumph  ! .  . .  Why,  she 
now  asked  herself  for  the  first  time,  had  she  wanted  to 
triumph  ?  Why  had  she  not  seen  sooner  that  what  she  had 
really  wanted  had  been  to  be  triumphed  over  ?  Triumph  ? 
—It  came  to  her  with  a  strange  newness  that  women  didn't 
triumph  by  triumphing.  That  man  with  the  back  like  the 
church  door,  for  example,  who  had  just  gone  out  with  that 
pretty  snippet 


134  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

Instantly,  and  with  extraordinary  resilience,  her  mind 
established  a  contrast. 

No  woman  would  have  to  cajole  this  shabby,  lion-eyed 
man  into  admiration  of  her  beauty.  Rather  she  would  have 
to  save  herself  from  his  onslaught — and  then,  in  her  very 
flying,  she  would  triumph.  Louie  had  found  a  fool  in- 
vincible ;  but  this  other,  when  he  loved,  would  go  down 
with  the  vehemence  of  his  own  assault.  When  Louie  had 
refused  to  kiss  Roy  at  their  parting  she  had  not  known 
exactly  why  she  had  done  so  :  she  had  obeyed  an  instinct ; 
a  chapter  had  been  closed,  and  had  had  to  be  marked  as 
definitely  closed  ;  her  heart  had  known  no  rancour  against 
him.  But  now  ! — she  might  just  as  well  have  kissed  him. 
Now,  in  this  strange  place,  two  strange  people — or  rather 
one,  for  the  girl  mattered  nothing — had  in  a  moment,  and 
infinitely,  enlarged  her  sense  of  what,  at  any  rate  to  a  man, 
love  might  mean.  In  the  light  of  that  enlargement  any 
kiss  she  could  have  given  to  Roy  would  have  meant  nothing 
— nothing,  nothing.  Poor  Roy,  whom  she  had  had  to  woo  ! 
This  other  would  do  his  own  wooing.  Why,  he  was  doing 
it  now 

Then  a  startling  recollection  caused  Louie  to  sit  suddenly 
upright.  This  lion,  who  had  given  those  looks  at  that  girl — 
this  shabby  giant,  whose  face  she  had  just  seen  enheavened 
out  of  all  knowledge — had  told  young  Merridew,  who  had 
told  Kitty  Windus  and  Miriam  Levey,  that  his  heart  was 
set  on  somebody  outside  this  poky  little  Business  School 
altogether  ! 

Involuntarily  Louie  drew  a  long  breath  of  amazement. 

He  had  told  them  that ! 

Then  Louie  became  matter-of-fact.  There  was  one  thing 
and  one  thing  only  to  be  said.  If  Mr  Jeffries  had  told  him 
that,  Mr  Jeffries  had — lied. 

She  turned  it  over  again — she  found  no  flaw  in  it. 


SUTHERLAND    PLACE  185 

Yes,  if  he  had  said  that,  he  had  lied. 

Louie  pondered.  The  result  of  her  pondering  was  that  she 
said  slowly  to  herself  :  "  Ah — this  is  going  to  be  more  than 
amusing — unless  I'm  mistaken  it  might  even  become 
dramatic." 

Up  to  the  moment  of  this  astonishing  discovery — for  Louie 
knew  that  she  had  made  a  discovery — Mr  Jeffries  had  been 
to  her  a  phenomenon,  different  from  Mr  Mackie  and  Kitty 
Windus,  but  not  to  be  observed  very  differently  ;  now  in  a 
twink  she  placed  him  in  quite  another  category.  Or,  if  she 
still  lacked  a  category  in  which  to  place  him,  she  certainly 
removed  him  for  ever  from  the  other.  He  had  called  sud- 
denly on  her  profounder  attention,  and,  as  if  he  had  struck 
upon  a  rock,  the  waters  of  it  gushed  forth.  Apparently  to 
others  he  was  a  butt,  a  jest,  a  pathetic  figure  ;  he  was  not 
that  to  Louie  Causton  now.  They  had  said,  Kitty  and  the 
Jewess,  that  Evie  Soames  and  the  red-waistcoated  boy,  off 
to  Guildford  together  to-morrow,  would  before  long  be 
engaged  to  be  married  ;  but  Mr  Jeffries,  the  third  person  in 
the  commonest  of  dramas,  and  Mr  Jeffries,  the  introducer 
into  that  drama  of  a  preposterous,  impossible  fourth  actor, 
whose  name  Miriam  Levey  was  resolved  to  know,  were  not 
one  and  the  same  man.  Louie  sat  astounded  again  at  his 
lie.  It  struck  her  as  really  in  its  way  stupendous.  Others 
thought  he  was  below  his  fellows  in  this  shabby  little  hutch 
of  a  Business  School ;  not  so  Louie  now  !  She  saw  those 
clear  yellow  eyes  again.  Ruses  and  machinations  lived  in 
them.  A  butt,  with  his  brown-paper  parcel  ?  A  pathetic 
figure,  with  his  cadged  baths  ?  No — good  gracious,  no  ! 
The  faces  of  butts  and  pathetic  figures  were  rather  less 
capable  of  irradiation.  This  man's  kind  made  great  some- 
things— great  men,  great  saints,  great  lovers — if  it  came  to 
the  worst  great  criminals.  Had  she,  Louie,  been  that  jaunty 
young  man  in  the  red  waistcoat,  she  would  have  chosen  for 


136  THE    STORY    OF   LOUIE 

a  rival  and  enemy  anybody  she  had  ever  seen  rather  than 
this  needy,  gigantic  Mr  Jeffries,  who  made  this  barefaced 
attempt  to  throw  dust  into  people's  eyes  by  means  of 
apocryphal  women  he  was  "after"  elsewhere. 

And  he  helped  this  youngster  he  must  hate  with  his 
studies — cadged  on  his  probably-to-be-successful  rival  for 
a  bath. 

He  was  masked  too,  then. 

Yes,  at  this  dingy  School  in  Holborn  Louie  had  found 
something  even  more  interesting  than  amusement. 


IV 

§« 

LOUIE  had  not  yet  allowed  herself  much  time  for  fear  of 
what  was  to  happen  to  herself  physically  ;  she  had  amused 
herself  too  heartily.  She  bought  chocolates  and  hated  the 
smell  of  tobacco  ;  and  so  far  that  was  all.  What  hung  over 
her  was  as  inevitable  as  Death,  and  for  that  reason  was,  like 
Death,  to  be  kept  at  arm's-length  as  long  as  possible. 

But  she  had  already  seen  enough  of  Bichenda's  sister 
to  be  aware  that  in  all  probability  her  stay  in  Sutherland 
Place  would  not  be  a  long  one.  Mrs  Leggat  was  formally 
kind,  to  Lord  Moone's  niece  rather  than  to  herself ;  but  for 
the  rest  an  armed  neutrality  seemed  to  exist  between  the 
two  women.  The  Leggats  were  childless,  and  for  that 
reason  the  less  likely  to  be  charitable.  Louie  had,  in  fact, 
found  the  social  layer  that  is  bounded  on  the  one  hand  by 
the  wickedness  of  pugilists  and  on  the  other  by  the  scapes 
of  young  gentlemen  about  to  enter  the  army.  Within 
these  limits  Virtue  reigned — not  always  harshly,  always  con- 
sciously. Not  the  wives  of  the  Caesars  (it  seemed  to  Louie) 


SUTHERLAND    PLACE  137 

were  above  suspicion,  but  the  Mrs  Leggats  ;  not  the  saints, 
who  confessed  that  they  were  tempted,  but  the  Westons, 
who  did  not  know  of  temptation's  existence.  It  was  as  if 
some  unseen,  august  Mrs  Lovenant-Smitb  had  decreed  that 
landladies  and  teachers  in  business  schools  did  not  do  these 
things.  And  they  did  not. 

Louie  went  to  the  house  of  Richenda's  father,  the  book- 
seller— once.  She  had  no  wish  to  go  again.  As  Richenda 
had  described  him  there  had  been  something  tragic  about 
him  ;  to  Louie  he  had  appeared  merely  as  a  grey -bearded, 
rheumatic,  complaining  old  man,  a  picture  of  pathos  without 
dignity.  And  those  six  other  Richendas,  of  various  ages, 
struck  her  as  horribly  superfluous.  She  wanted  Life's 
colour,  not  its  greyness ;  she  greatly  preferred  the  garish, 
incredible  Mackie. 

The  weeks  passed.  Weston  came  regularly  on  Sunday 
mornings,  and  on  Sunday  afternoons  she  took  long  walks. 
On  the  nights  when  there  was  no  class  she  rode  on  buses, 
along  Oxford  Street,  down  Regent  Street  to  the  Circus, 
and  back  by  Park  Lane  to  the  Marble  Arch  and  Notting  Hill 
Gate  again  ;  or  sometimes  she  went  Paddington  way,  up 
the  Harrow  Road  and  out  and  back  through  Kilburn.  She 
began  to  know  something  of  the  streets  of  London.  Her 
health  was  far  better  in  London  than  it  had  been  at  Rain- 
ham  Parva.  It  was  perfect.  She  still  feared  nothing. 

The  Christmas  Examinations  drew  within  sight,  and  hand 
in  hand  with  the  preparation  for  them  another  and  a  more 
lightsome  preoccupation  engaged  the  School.  This  was  the 
Christmas  Social  with  which  the  last  term  of  the  year  always 
closed.  An  Executive  had  been  formed  ;  on  it  Louie's  name 
appeared ;  and  it  met  frequently  at  the  close  of  afternoon 
school.  One  of  the  younger  students  was  sent  across  to 
the  teashop  over  the  way  for  scones  and  cake  ;  a  kettle  was 


138  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

set  on  the  general-room  fire  ;  and  the  social  was  discussed 
over  tea. 

Mr  Mackie  was  the  life  and  soul  of  these  meetings.  He 
was  especially  strong  on  the  subject  of  whether  evening- 
dress  was  to  be  obligatory,  permissible  or  debarred.  He 
declared  himself  at  one  of  the  earlier  meetings  as  out  and 
out  for  fancy  dress,  but  was  outvoted. 

"  See  me  as  a  Woodbine,  girls,  beg  pardon,  miss-cue,  a 
Columbine,  I  mean,  nearly  cold  with  the  kilt,  kilt  with  the 
cold,  I  should  say,  sixpence  in  the  box  for  the  opera-glasses, 
Gerald,  but  don't  ogle  me  while  mother's  in  the  wings, 
wishing  she  was  twenty-one  again — good  old  mother — 

"  '  Here's  to  the  happiest  hours  of  my  life, 
Spent  in  the  arms  of  another  man's  wife — 
My  Mo-the-rr  ! ' " 

(The  shake  on  the  long  note  produced  by  a  rapid  play  of  Mr 
Mackie's  fingers  on  Mr  Mackie's  Adam's  apple.)  "  Thought 
I'd  have  to  backpedal,  didn't  you,  Miss  Causton  ?  Nay, 
fear  not,  fair  damsel,  the  intentions  of  Ferdinando  are 
honourable,  as  long  as  you  watch  him,  pip-pip,  phee-ooo  !  " 
(The  shrill  whistle  behind  the  handkerchief  closed  the 
strophe.) 

But  this  was  rushing  matters.  Kitty  Windus  spoke, 
no  doubt  on  behalf  of  the  students  who  hadn't  a  pound 
a  week  on  their  own. 

"  Fancy  dress  would  keep  a  good  many  away,"  she  said. 
"  I  should  love  it,  but  it  really  is  an  expense,  you  know." 

"  Weston  can  buy  a  penny  bottle  of  gum  and  come  as  a 
foreign  stamp." 

"  Do  be  serious,  Mr  Mackie,  now  !  We  want  the  social 
to  be  for  everybody  here " 

"  And  their  friends,"  Miss  Levey  interpolated,  with  a 
look  of  private  understanding  at  Kitty  Windus.  There  was 
a  short  interlude  between  the  two  women. 


SUTHERLAND    PLACE  139 

"  You  won't  find  out,  Miriam  !  " 

"  I  mil  \  " 

"  Did  you  offer  him  tickets  for  the  Holborn  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  but  he  vouldn't  buy  them." 

"  Doesn't  Mrs  J.  as-is-to-be  dance  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.     He  vouldn't  buy  the  tickets." 

"  I'll  bet  you  another  half-crown  you  don't  get  him  there, 
let  alone  her  !  " 

"  Done  vith  you,  Kitty  Vindus  !  "  cried  Miss  Levey 
excitedly. 

Here  Mr  Mackie  interposed.  "  Who's  that  ?  Jeffries  ? 
He  can  come  in  his  ulster  as  Boaz — heu,  how  Ruthless  ! 
(Beshrew  me,  but  have  I  not  a  pretty  wit  ?)  " 

"  He's  got  that  new  brown  suit  to  come  in — or  did  he  get 
it  second-hand,  Archie  ?  "  asked  Kitty. 

"  New,"  quoth  Archie  authoritatively.  "  Allworthy's, 
in  Cheapside.  Two  ten." 

"  I  nearly  died  when  he  turned  up  without  that  old  ulster ! " 

"  Vasn't  it  screaming  ?  "  simpered  Miss  Levey.  "  No, 
don't,  Archie  !  "  (Young  Merridew  was  pulling  out  the 
frill  of  her  jabot.) 

"  Do  tell  us  exactly  what  he  said  when  you  congratulated 
him  on  his  engagement,  Evie  !  "  said  Kitty  Windus,  turning 
to  Evie  Soames. 

The  girl  coloured  a  little.  In  common  fairness  Louie  had 
to  acquit  her  of  full  participation  in  the  joke  of  Mr  Jeffries 
and  his  unknown  fiancee.  Louie  had  learned  that  it  had 
been  in  order  to  congratulate  Mr  Jeffries  on  this  supposed 
engagement  that  she  had  followed  Mr  Jeffries  into  the  library 
on  that  Friday  evening  before  her  departure  for  the  week- 
end to  Guildford.  She  thought  little  more  of  her  on  that 
account.  In  being  too  ready  with  apologies  and  congratula- 
tions Evie  Soames  merely  showed  the  vulgarity  of  the  rest 
of  the  place. 


140  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

"  No,  do  let's  get  on  with  business,"  Kitty  Windus  broke 
in.  "  I  vote  for  ordinary  dress." 

"  Yes,  ordinary  dress,"  came  the  chorus. 

"  Vith  vite  gloves,  of  course,"  said  Miss  Levey. 

"  Of  course." 

"  Vot  do  you  say,  Miss  Causton  ?  " 

"  White  gloves,  of  course,"  said  Louie,  with  her  demurest 
look.  "  And  flowers  in  their  buttonholes." 

"  Some  gentlemen  don't  like  to  vear  flowers,"  said 
Miriam  Levey  suspiciously. 

"  Aha,  doesn't  he  ?  "  from  Mr  Mackie.  "  7  saw  you 
at  the  Holborn,  Miss  Levey — naughty,  naughty " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mean  very  big  ones,"  said  Louie,  sipping 
her  tea. 

And  the  discussion  went  on,  and  meeting  followed 
meeting ;  but  the  examination  was  to  take  place  before 
the  social. 

The  only  fear  Louie  had  for  her  Elementary  was  whether 
it  would  be  worth  very  much  when  she  had  got  it.  She 
supposed  that  as  an  earnest  preparation  for  the  struggle 
of  life  this  place  was  not  quite  such  a  fraud  as  Chesson's, 
but  that  struggle  could  hardly  be  as  fierce  as  Eichenda 
Earle  had  said  if  this  Elementary  took  her  very  far.  Indeed 
she  had  wondered  more  than  once  lately,  especially  since 
she  had  ceased  to  amuse  herself  quite  so  desperately, 
whether  it  was  likely  that  typewriting  and  book-keeping 
were  to  be  her  destiny  after  all.  She  supposed  they  were, 
but  she  couldn't  quite  realise  it.  But  she  was  fully  pre- 
pared, and  hoped  Mr  Jeffries  was  as  sure  of  his  Honours 
paper  as  she  was  of  her  simple  Pass. 

For  she  had  gathered  that  success  in  the  coming  examina- 
tion was  of  importance  to  Mr  Jeffries.  She  did  not  know 
the  nature  of  his  studies  ;  later  she  surmised  that  those 
had  been  only  loosely  linked  to  the  ordinary  school  curri- 


SUTHERLAND    PLACE  141 

culum,  and  that  while  for  his  Certificate's  sake  he  must 
acquire  all  that  text-books  could  tell  him,  his  real  broodings 
had  been  over  matters  that  are  antecedent  to  text-books. 
That  was  probably  the  difference  between  him  and  Mr 
Weston.  Mr  Weston  was  said  to  be  clever,  but  his  clever- 
ness ended  at  the  point  where  real  inquiry  began.  More 
than  this  Louie  did  not  know.  You  cannot,  after  all,  ask 
the  pioneer  what  he  goes  forth  for  to  see.  He  goes  forth 
to  see  whatever  there  may  be  to  be  seen. 

The  weeks  that  had  intervened  since  that  evening  when 
Louie  had  seen  that  wonderful  radiance  of  his  face  had 
done  nothing  to  alter  her  conviction  that  if  there  was  a 
dark  horse  in  that  Holborn  stable  at  all  the  name  of  that 
horse  was  Mr  Jeffries. 

As  it  happened,  Mr  Jeffries  was  almost  the  first  person 
she  encountered  when,  on  the  Friday  morning  of  the 
examination,  she  entered  the  School  at  half -past  ten.  He 
wore  the  new  brown  suit  that  had  been  remarked  on  at  the 
meetings  of  the  Executive  of  the  social,  and  he  was  looking 
with  curiosity  about  him.  They  had  made  quite  extensive 
preparations  for  the  examination.  The  whole  place  had 
been  divided  into  compartments  with  hired  yellow-painted 
screens,  and  screens  also  barricaded  the  E  of  reference- 
books  near  the  bay  window  of  the  general-room.  New 
pens  and  new  blotting-paper  lay  on  the  desks,  and  the 
little  porcelain  inkwells  had  been  newly  filled.  Then  it 
occurred  to  Louie  that  it  was  more  than  likely  that  Mr 
Jeffries  had  never  been  in  the  place  in  the  daytime  before. 
He  must  have  got  the  day  off  from  that  "  somewhere  in 
the  City  "  that  Kitty  Windus  had  said  sounded  so  prosper- 
ous. His  tawny  hair  was  as  flat  and  silky  as  ever,  and  his 
chin  as  cleanly  shaved.  He  passed  her  with  a  curt  bow 
and  continued  his  inspection  of  the  place.  The  candidates 
stood  talking  in  groups,  waiting  for  eleven  o'clock. 


142  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

"  Have  you  discovered  your — er — appointed  place,  Miss 
Causton  ?  "  said  Weston,  coming  up  to  Louie.  "  Good, 
good  !  I  must  now  take  my  departure.  Members  of  the 
Staff  are  not  permitted  to  remain  on  the  premises  during 
the  hours  devoted  to  the  examination.  I  wish  you — er — 
good  luck." 

He  seemed  to  change  his  mind  about  saying  "  a  happy 
issue  from  all  your  afflictions." 

By  eleven  o'clock  Louie  was  seated  in  her  little  screen- 
enclosed  compartment.  A  sort  of  hired  mourner  read  a 
formal  caution  to  the  candidates.  She  noticed  that  it 
lacked  the  largior  ether  of  the  third  person  indicative, 
being,  indeed,  in  the  second  person  imperative  ;  and  then 
she  drew  her  paper  to  her. 

Quiet  fell  on  the  examination-rooms. 

She  found  her  papers  no  more  difficult  than  she  had 
anticipated.  On  one  point  only,  a  matter  of  indenting  in 
actual  practice,  was  she  a  little  in  doubt,  and  a  minute  in 
the  old  ledger-room  at  lunch-time  would  tell  her  whether 
her  answer  had  been  right  or  wrong.  She  read  over  again 
what  she  had  written ;  it  seemed,  with  the  possible  excep- 
tion of  that  single  point,  all  right ;  and  she  tilted  her  chair, 
put  her  hands  behind  her  head,  and  leaned  back.  The 
candidates  had  been  warned  that  they  must  bring  lunch 
with  them.  It  was  half-an-hour  from  lunch-time  yet. 

Her  place  was  by  the  folding  door  of  the  general-room. 
From  it  she  could  see  nothing  save  the  stationery  cupboard 
on  her  left,  and,  beyond  it,  the  next  screen-enclosed  com- 
partment. She  was  wondering  who  was  in  it  when  a  foot 
moved  beneath  the  yellow  screen.  It  was  the  foot  of  Mr 
Jeffries.  Louie  hoped  that  he  was  getting  on  well,  and 
then  dismissed  him  from  her  thoughts.  She  began  to 
wonder  about  the  practical  usefulness  of  the  examination 
again. 


SUTHERLAND    PLACE  143 

Doubtless  it  was  well  enough  in  its  way,  but  less  than 
ever  could  she  persuade  herself  that  this  kind  of  thing  was 
to  be  her  destiny.  There  were  too  many  other  likelihoods — 
not  to  speak  of  the  one  certainty  so  huge  that  she  had 
sometimes  been  actually  in  danger  of  leaving  it  out  of  the 
account  altogether.  Idly  she  counted  them.  First,  there 
was  the  certainty.  .  .  .  Next,  she  would  probably  be 
leaving  Sutherland  Place  soon,  to  go — where  ?  She  did 
not  know.  At  the  price  of  submission  to  Uncle  Augustus 
she  could  go  back  home ;  or  Chaff  would  have  her  looked 
after ;  but  both  these  courses  were  rather  out  of  the 
question.  They  were  out  of  the  question  because  lately 
something  else  had  been  more  and  more  in  her  thoughts — 
her  unknown  father.  That  father  might,  for  all  she  knew, 
be  the  bugbear  her  mother  had  always  made  him  out  to 
be ;  but  on  the  other  hand  he  might  not.  She  knew  her 
mother,  and  the  more  she  thought  of  it  the  more  she  gave 
her  father  the  benefit  of  an  increasing  number  of  doubts. 
Until  she  should  have  seen  him  it  was  now  no  more  than 
fair  that  she  should  do  so.  Moreover,  she  could  see  him 
at  any  time  without  his  being  any  the  wiser  of  the — 
inspection.  Chaff  knew  where  he  was ;  Chaff,  who  was 
always  fetching  or  taking  her  somewhere,  would  take  her 
there  also.  She  was  resolved  to  go  sooner  or  later,  and 
later  might  be — who  knew  ? — too  late. 

For  at  last  she  had  admitted  a  dread. 

In  any  case,  her  destiny  was  quite  as  likely  to  be  deter- 
mined by  a  visit  to  that  public -house  up  the  Thames  as 
by  writing,  in  this  stuffy  Holborn  third  floor,  answers  to 
ridiculous  questions  about  pro  forma  invoices  and  bills 
of  lading. 

She  was  still  turning  these  things  over  in  her  mind  when 
the  bell  rang  for  the  close  of  the  first  part  of  the  examination. 

She  ate  her  lunch  in  the  company  of  Kitty  Windus  and 


144  THE    STORY    OF    LOUIE 

Miss  Levey,  and  then  the  three  women  passed  out  on  to  the 
staircase  and  sat  down  half-way  down  the  stairs.  But 
the  men  had  flocked  to  the  staircase  for  their  noxious 
smoking,  and  Louie  re-entered  the  general-room  again. 
Then  she  remembered  the  doubtful  point  in  her  paper  and 
walked  to  the  library.  She  passed  through  it  into  the 
old  ledger-room.  Any  old  ledger  would  settle  the  point 
on  which  she  was  not  quite  sure. 

The  room  was  almost  dark,  but  Louie  knew  where  the 
musty  old  books  were.  She  put  out  her  hand  to  the  nearest 
of  them.  But  suddenly  she  withdrew  her  hand.  The 
high  window  that  gave  on  the  head  of  the  stairs  afforded 
no  more  than  a  glimmer  of  light,  but  Louie  thought  she 
had  seen  something  move.  She  peered  into  the  twilight* 
"  Is  anybody  there  ?  "  she  said,  but  she  had  no  answer. 

But  the  room  was  occupied.  The  next  moment  she 
had  seen  and  fled*. 

Her  irregular  lips  were  pursed  as  she  came  out  into  the 
light  again.  There  was  a  confusion,  too,  in  her  eyes, 
probably  as  much  as  there  had  been  in  the  eyes  of  the  two 
she  had  corne  upon  in  there.  They  must  have  seen  her 
come  in,  and  have  realised  that  their  only  chance  of 
escaping  detection  lay  in  keeping  perfectly  still. 

Polly  Ross,  cheek  to  cheek  with  that  horrid  little 
bounder ! 

There  was  no  question  now  of  whom  the  girl  preferred. 

Louie,  wondering  what  right  she  had  to  do  so,  felt 
nevertheless  a  little  sick. 

But  the  next  moment  her  fastidiousness  had  vanished. 
The  door  that  led  to  the  stairs  had  opened  ;  Mr  Mackie's 
voice  sounded  loud  for  a  moment  on  the  landing  ;  and  then 
Mr  Jeffries  lurched  in,  stumbled,  and  almost  ran  to  his 
compartment  between  the  yellow  screens. 

How  he  too  knew  what  was  going  on  in  the  old  ledger- 


SUTHERLAND    PLACE  145 

room,  Louie  could  not  guess  ;  but  she  knew  that  he  did 
know. 

She  walked  slowly  to  her  own  place  and  sat  down. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  bell  for  the  second  half  of  the 
examination  rang,  and  a  new  paper  was  put  before  Louie. 
But  she  neither  glanced  at  it  nor  yet  heard  the  voice  of  the 
hired  mourner  repeating  his  caution.  She  sat  with  her  chin 
in  her  hands,  looking  straight  before  her.  She  was  wonder- 
ing what  was  taking  place  behind  the  yellow  screen  beyond 
the  stationery  cupboard.  Amusement  was  hardly  the 
word  for  that. 

For  she  had  seen  Mr  Jeffries'  face  as  he  had  stumbled  in. 
She  sought  words  for  the  expression  that  had  been  upon  it. 
Lost — despairing — devilish 

There  was  not  much  doubt  about  who  he  was  in  love 
with  either. 

Devilish,  despairing,  lost 

"  Poor — soul !  "  she  thought  compassionately.  .  .  . 

She  wondered  why  she  should  be  so  unaccountably 
nervous.  She  was  nervous.  She  even  jumped  a  little 
when  somebody  on  the  other  side  of  the  folding  door 
allowed  a  pen  to  fall  to  the  floor.  She  could  see  the  feet 
beneath  the  lower  edge  of  the  screen  in  front  of  her  ;  they 
did  not  move  ;  the  examination  quietness  had  fallen  on 
the  place  again,  and  the  very  quietness  grew  on  her.  Strong 
drama,  if  not  tragedy  outright,  was  being  enacted  behind 
those  half-inch  yellow  boards  beyond  the  stationery 
cupboard,  but  the  quietness  continued.  It  was  such  a 
quietness  as  she  had  read  of  in  tales  when,  somebody's  ears 
being  sharpened  for  an  expected  scream,  their  eyes  had 
not  at  first  noticed  the  little  dark  rivulet  of  blood  trickling 
slowly  across  the  floor.  Involuntarily  her  "eyes  went  to  the 
yellow  screen. 

But  rubbish  ;  this  was  morbid. 


146  THE    STORY    OF    LOUIE 

Morbid  or  not,  however,  her  lips  almost  shaped  the  words, 
slowly  and  deliberately :  that  boy  with  the  red  waistcoat 
would  do  well  to  be  careful.  He  would  do  especially  well 
to  be  careful  if,  after  this,  after  the  glare  on  the  other's 
face,  he  should  still  have  help  offered  him  with  his  studies 
or  be  asked  for  a  bath.  For  something  would  happen  then. 
Eggshells  such  as  he  did  not  come  into  collision  with 
bronze  without  something  happening.  And  if  anything 
not  easily  to  be  accounted  for  did  happen  to  that  odious 
little  whippersnapper,  nothing  would  ever  persuade  Louie 
that  she  did  not  know  a  likely  quarter  in  which  to  look  for 
the  reason. 

Blind,  devilish  despair ! 

And  all  for  an  empty-headed  little  thing  who  could  have 
been  found  in  her  dozens  behind  twenty  shop  counters  not 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  away !  What  on  earth,  what  on,  or 
under,  or  above  the  earth,  could  this  brooding,  clever, 
gigantic,  laughed-at  creature  want  with  such  a  doll  ?  Why 
could  he  not  leave  her  in  her  proper  place — cheek  by  cheek 
with  the  little  bounder  of  her  choice  in  that  smelly,  unlighted 
old  ledger-room  ?  The  man  must  be  blind,  or  a  fool. 

Then  a  sort  of  lethargy  took  Louie.  Suddenly  she  cared 
for  nothing.  Let  the  fancy-stationer's  cub  take  his  risks  ; 
let  the  other  eat  his  heart  out  if  he  would  ;  it  was  no  busi- 
ness of  hers.  Nor  was  that  absurd  table  of  questions  before 
her  any  business  of  hers.  Kitty  Windus  might  answer  that 
sort  of  thing  ;  Mackie  might  answer  it ;  but  the  Scarisbricks 
were  not  Kittys,  with  her  "  part-independency,"  not 
Mackies,  to  stuff  their  heads  and  ink  their  ringers  like  this 
for  their  "  permanencies."  She  did  not  know  now  why 
she  had  ever  come  to  the  place,  and  she  wanted  no  more 
of  it.  What  she  was  going  to  do  she  did  not  know.  She 
did  know,  however,  that  she  was  not  going  to  answer  that 
silly  paper. 


SUTHERLAND    PLACE  147 

So,  by-and-by,  she  allowed  the  paper  to  be  collected 
again,  as  blank  as  when  it  had  been  placed  before  her. 

She  caine  upon  the  perverse  Mr  Jeffries  once  more 
before  she  left.  He  almost  ran  her  down  bodily  as  they 
met  in  the  doorway  of  the  typewriting-room.  But  this 
time  she  did  not  look  at  his  face.  With  a  swift  intaking  of 
her  breath  she  fell  back  to  save  herself.  She  did  not  hear 
whether  he  apologised  or  not  ;  in  one  moment,  without 
premeditation,  her  whole  being  had  become  constrained 
to  a  new,  protective,  instinctive  attitude. 

Slowly  and  thoughtfully  she  left  the  School. 

She  alone  of  the  students  was  unsurprised  to  hear, 
four  or  five  days  later,  that  Mr  Jeffries,  who  had  passed 
with  distinction  in  the  first  part  of  his  paper,  had,  like 
herself,  failed  in  the  second  part. 


For  the  examination  the  rooms  had  been  cut  up  with 
screens  ;  for  the  breaking-up  social  they  were  cleared  of 
everything  that  could  be  stowed  away  into  dark  corners. 
Never  was  such  a  hoisting  and  calling  as  those  with  which 
the  hired  piano  was  got  up  the  three  flights  of  stairs. 
Most  of  it  came  from  Mr  Mackie,  turned  for  the  nonce  into 
a  shabash-wallah. 

"  Mind  her  funnybone  —  all  together  —  up  with  her  !  Oh, 
pursue  me,  wenches,  I've  got  my  muscle  up,  first  time  since 
the  second  housemaid  ran  away  with  the  dustman  !  Don't 
tickle  her  parson's  nose,  Archi-bald,  or  she'll  sneeze  when 
I  sing,  key  in  the  usual  place  —  and  mind  the  stair  above  the 
top,  it  isn't  there.  This  way  —  excuse  my  shirt-sleeves, 
Miss  Windus,  I'm  in  mourning." 

And  so  the  piano  was  trundled  to  its  place  in  the  corner 
by  the  big  blackboard. 


148  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

Mr  Mackie  was  of  service,  too,  in  the  French-chalking 
of  the  floor,  for  the  men  hauled  him  about  by  the  arms  and 
legs  on  a  piece  of  sacking  in  order  to  give  it  its  final  polish 
for  dancing.  Half  the  students,  male  and  female,  helped 
to  wind  the  blackened  old  brackets  and  chandeliers  with 
red  and  green  tissue  paper,  to  set  evergreens  on  the  tops 
of  the  cupboards,  and  to  affix  the  trophies  of  little  Christ- 
mas tree  flags  on  the  cabbagey  old  walls  ;  and  Louie  helped 
with  the  refreshments.  Three  women  had  been  got  in, 
one  to  make  coffee  and  the  others  to  preside  in  the  cloak- 
rooms, and  Miss  Levey  had  won  half-a-crown  from  Kitty 
Windus. 

For  Mr  Jeffries  was  coming  to  the  party  after  all.  More, 
it  had  been  Louie  herself  who  had  asked  him,  though  it 
had  been  Miss  Levey's  cunning  that  had  made  her  do  so. 
On  no  grounds  at  all  save  that  it  appeared  to  annoy,  the 
Jewess  had  once  or  twice  twitted  Louie  that  Mr  Jeffries 
favoured  her  and,  when  Mr  Jeffries  had  declined  her  own 
invitation,  had  nudged  Louie.  "  You  ask  him,  and  see 
whether  he  doesn't  come  !  "  the  nudge  had  meant.  Louie 
entered  into  no  contest  with  Miss  Levey.  She  had  turned 
at  once  to  Mr  Jeffries  and  repeated  the  invitation.  He  had 
accepted  it. 

Louie  doubted  her  own  wisdom  in  going  to  that  social 
at  all.  Even  when  she  had  reached  Sutherland  Place  and 
spread  out  her  frocks  on  her  bed  she  still  doubted.  But 
suddenly  she  gave  a  short  laugh.  Of  course  she  was 
going  !  It  was  her  first  "  social,"  and  it  might  be  her  last ; 
she  was  going,  and  she  was  going  to  wear  the  oyster-grey 
satin  that,  ever  since  she  had  had  it,  had  always  seemed  to 
"  live  "  so  on  her  shoulders. 

She  declined  Mrs  Leggat's  help  in  getting  into  it ;  if  Mrs 
Leggat  would  be  so  good  as  to  get  her  a  hansom  instead — 
Mrs  Leggat  went  out.    The  oyster -grey  was  one  of  the  oldest 


SUTHERLAND    PLACE  149 

of  her  frocks ;  Lonie  knew  every  stitch  of  it ;  and  she  smiled 
as  she  thought  that  for  that  very  reason  she  would  have 
chosen  it  had  she  deliberately  intended  to  make  a  conquest. 
She  surveyed  herself  in  it  in  the  tilted  glass.  Yes,  she 
thought  she  would  do." 

"  It's  your  last  time  on,  poor  old  rag,"  she  muttered. 

She  heard  the  pulling  up  of  the  hansom  ;  she  put  on  a 
light  shawl  and  descended  ;  and  Mrs  Leggat  lingered  in  the 
doorway  as  she  drove  off. 

They  had  set  candles  on  the  floors  of  the  landings  of  the 
Holborn  stairs,  but  they  guttered  in  the  draughts,  and 
showed  little  but  the  feet  of  those  who  ascended.  Louie 
followed  a  pair  of  orange  silk-stockinged  ankles  and  a 
trammel  of  orange  petticoats  (she  didn't  know  whose)  up 
the  stairs,  and  entered  the  general-room.  The  library  had 
been  converted  into  a  ladies'  cloakroom,  with  the  old 
ledger-room  as  an  annexe ;  and  in  this  last  room  Evie 
Soames,  with  an  elaborate  running  of  pink  ribbons  beneath 
the  openwork  of  her  cream  net  blouse,  was  putting  on  her 
slippers.  She  only  showed  Louie  the  top  of  her  dark  head  ; 
in  this  and  other  ways  she  had  displayed  reserve  since  the 
lunch  interval  of  the  examination  day.  A  woman  with  a 
pair  of  very  chapped  hands  and  a  very  clean  apron  took 
Louie's  shawl ;  and  Louie,  first  glancing  at  her  hair  over  the 
powdered  shoulder  of  the  person  in  orange,  went  into  the 
double  room  that  had  been  prepared  for  dancing. 

Students  and  their  friends  had  turned  up  in  their  best 
bibs  and  tuckers.  Most  of  the  men  wore  swallow- tailed 
coats  ;  one  of  the  exceptions  was  Mr  Jeffries  in  his  brown 
jacket-suit.  He  was  talking  to  Miss  Levey,  or  rather  Miss 
Levey  was  gasping  to  him  ;  she  had  just  given  him,  or 
rather  hung  upon  his  wrist,  one  of  the  violet-written  cards, 
printed  from  the  gelatine-copier,  which  served  as  pro- 
grammes. Weston  wore  a  tightly  fitting  old  frock-coat, 


150  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

which  Mr  Mackie  humorously  likened  to  the  overcoat  of 
sausage  that  had  spent  the  night  in  the  coal-hole.  Archie 
Merridew  had  a  white  waistcoat.  All  the  men  stroked  the 
wrinkles  out  of  their  white  gloves  without  ceasing.  The 
women,  to  the  reflective  eye,  had  lost  little  by  the  foregoing 
of  out-and-out  evening-dress.  There  was  an  "  I  could  an' 
if  I  would  "  about  their  long  sleeves  and  high  necks.  Kitty 
Windus,  in  her  blue  foulard,  with  a  cutlet-frill  about  her 
thin  neck,  graciously  consented  to  the  level  of  those  who 
had  not  a  pound  a  week  on  their  own ;  Miriam  Levey, 
in  a  maroon  pinafore-frock  with  broad  braces  over  her 
shoulders,  instantly  put  every  simple  blouse  in  the  room 
at  its  ease.  One  frock  only  flouted  the  modest  agreement 
to  which  the  executive  had  come  ;  this  was  the  orange 
satin  one  which  Louie  had  followed  upstairs.  It  partially 
clothed  a  friend  of  Mr  Mackie's.  Louie  heard  the  words  in 
which  Mr  Mackie  introduced  young  Merridew  to  its  wearer. 

"  Mr  Merridew,  Miss  Dulcie  Levine,  Miss  Levine,  Mr 
Merridew,  two  of  the  best,  seasonable  weather  for  the  time 
of  the  year,  ain't  it,  what  ?  Permit  me,  Dulcibella,  a  bit 
of  fluff  "  (here  Mr  Mackie  cast  aside  the  bit  of  fluff,  if 
there  was  one,  which  he  had  taken  from  Miss  Dulcie's 
shoulder,  and  represented  the  noise  of  its  falling  by  a  loud 
stamp  on  the  floor).  "  Ought  to  be  dancing  soon  ;  what 
time  is  it  by  your  clocks,  Dulcie  ?  I  saw  them  as  you  got 
out  of  the  Black  Maria,  the  cab,  I  mean — heu,  desist,  Mr 
Mackie,  you  wag  !  "  (Mr  Mackie  smacked  his  own  wrist  in 
reproof  of  himself.)  "  Why  am  I  not  in  me  usual  spirits, 
gin  cold,  to-night,  Dulcinea  ?  'Tis  thy  fatal  beauty  has 
undone  me  ;  what  ho,  a  needle  and  threat,  0  fairest  of  thy 
socks,  sex  I  should  say  ....  Ay,  she  dances,  Archibald, 
but  not  with  thee,  base  varlet ;  she  dances  at  the  Theatre 
hight  Alcazar,  nigh  unto  ye  Square  called  Leicester." 

Louie  heard  Kitty  Windus  whisper  to  Evie  Soames  that 


SUTHERLAND    PLACE  151 

Mr  Mackie  was  going  to  be  splendid  to-night ;  but  her 
approval  did  not  extend  to  Mr  Mackie's  friend,  who  was 
already  too  splendid.  Kitty's  head  was  held  so  high  when 
Miss  Levine  passed  that  she  appeared  to  be  looking  at  her 
with  her  nostrils.  With  her  eyes  she  saw  only  the  orange 
creature's  back.  This  was  a  rather  handsome  V,  and  that 
did  not  improve  matters.  Kitty  whispered  behind  her 
fan  about  "some  people."  Miss  Dulcie  used  Kitty  as  a 
quizzing-glass  for  the  inspection  of  whoever  happened  to 
be  behind  her. 

Mr  Jeffries  stood  with  his  back  against  the  thrown-back 
folding  door.  He  did  not  dance,  but  he  had  not  at  all  the 
air  of  a  wet  blanket ;  on  the  contrary,  his  face  wore  a  quite 
lively  smile.  He  was  smiling  at  the  red  and  green  tissue 
paper  that  enswathed  the  central  chandelier.  Louie  saw 
Evie  Soames  pass  him  ;  his  eyes  rested  on  her  for  a  moment, 
but  only  as  they  rested  on  everybody  else,  and  then  went 
back  to  the  red  and  green  tissue  paper  of  the  chandelier 
again.  He  had  accepted  the  inevitable,  then.  Indeed,  had 
he  not  done  so,  Louie  could  hardly  imagine  that  he  would 
have  been  there.  Well,  it  was  the  most  sensible  thing  he 
could  do.  Louie  would  go  and  speak  to  him  presently. 

Louie  made  a  tour  of  the  rooms.  The  E  of  reference- 
books  had  been  turned  into  a  place  for  sitting  out,  and  in  the 
typewriting-room  the  lids  of  two  or  three  desks  had  been 
wedged  up  to  form  card-tables.  Into  the  room  beyond, 
which  was  the  smoking-room,  she  did  not  penetrate.  Al- 
ready a  fiddle  was  tuning  up,  but  Louie  had  told  young 
Merridew,  who  had  magnanimously  asked  her  for  her  card, 
that  she  did  not  intend  to  dance.  None  the  less  he  had 
taken  her  card  and  scrawled  something  on  it.  She  had 
tossed  the  piece  of  violet-written  pasteboard  into  a  corner. 

At  nine  o'clock  there  was  a  tapping  on  the  top  of  the 
piano,  and  the  music  began.  Mr  Mackie  and  the  lady  in 


152  THE    STORY    OF   LOUIE 

orange  glided  out  over  the  French-chalked  floor.  Two 
minutes  later  the  room  was  full  of  waltzing  couples. 

Louie  had  sat  down  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  room  to 
Mr  Jeffries.  Through  momentarily  clear  spaces  she  saw 
him  from  time  to  time.  He  did  not  move  from  his  station 
by  the  folding  door,  where,  among  the  hoppers  and  caperers 
who  sped  past  him,  he  seemed  to  have  something  of  the 
stability  of  a  monument  in  some  centre  of  apparently  aim- 
less traffic.  Still,  he  seemed  to  be  enjoying  himself,  and 
Louie  intended  to  go  across  to  him  when  the  waltz;  was  over. 

A  word  she  overheard,  however,  caused  her  to  change 
her  mind  and  to  rise  to  her  feet  at  once.  Mr  Mackie,  pass- 
ing with  his  orange  partner,  had  repeated  his  jape  about 
the  Ruthless  Boaz. 

Without  more  ado  Louie  threaded  her  way  through  the 
dancers  and  stood  before  Mr  Jeffries. 

"  Won't  you  try  to  dance  ?  "  she  said. 

As  he  turned  the  amber  eyes  on  her  she  had  the  feeling 
that  she  slid  all  at  once  into  the  field  of  some  piece  of  ap- 
paratus with  an  object-glass.  She  was  the  object.  For  a 
moment  he  forgot  his  smile;  he  looked  attentively  at  her  ; 
and  then  the  smile  returned.  He  answered  in  an  easy,  deep 
voice,  the  accent  of  which  was  neither  Cockney  nor  yet 
quite  of  the  mode  of  the  men  Louie  knew. 

"  Oh,  I— I  don't  dance,"  he  said. 

"  Won't  you  let  me  teach  you  ?  " 

His  eyes  were  still  on  hers.  He  seemed  to  give  the  simple 
question  weighty  consideration.  Then  his  eyes  dropped  to 
his  hands. 

"  Hallo,"  he  said,  as  if  to  himself.  His  programme  was 
where  Miss  Levey  had  put  it,  dangling  from  his  wrist  as  if 
from  a  hook.  Apparently  he  had  not  noticed  it  before. 
Then,  looking  at  Louie  again,  he  said  :  "  I  mean,  my  gloves 
— I've  no  gloves." 


SUTHERLAND    PLACE  153 

"  Gloves  !  "  she  said  quietly.     "  Come." 

She  took  the  absurd  programme  from  his  wrist,  threw  it 
away,  and  put  her  gloved  hand  into  his  naked  one. 

She  drew  Mr  Jeffries  into  the  current. 

Louie  had  danced  with  ignoramuses  before,  but  never 
with  a  man  quite  so  awkward  as  this.  She  did  her  best  to 
steer  him,  but  before  they  had  gone  half-way  round  the 
room  they  had  collided  with  Evie  Soames,  leaning  back  in 
the  crook  of  young  Merridew's  arm — with  Kitty  Windus, 
tiptoe  and  leaning  forward  over  her  partner — with  Mr 
Mackie,  who  had  lighted  a  cigarette  and  was  singing  the 
refrain  of  the  dance  as  he  passed.  Then  Mr  Jeffries  begged 
her,  out  of  consideration  for  herself,  to  stop.  But  she  had  no 
desire  to  stop.  She  wondered  why,  bumped  and  trampled 
so,  she  should  want  to  go  on,  but  she  gave  that  riddle  up. 
He  did  not  cease  to  apologise  for  his  ungainliness. 

But  the  riddle  of  why  she  did  not  wish  to  stop  refused  to 
be  given  up.  It  renewed  itself  with  each  of  his  apologies. 
Stumbling  ludicrously,  she  knew  that  she  still  wished  to  go 
on.  What  she  did  not  know  at  that  time  of  her  life  was 
that  she  had  secrets  that  hitherto  she  had  kept  even  from 
herself. 

Then,  all  in  a  moment,  the  strange  thing  happened.  She 
felt  that  colour,  that  stress  and  anger  never  brought  there, 
rise  slow  and  warm  into  her  cheeks.  Her  glance  had  merely 
rested  for  a  moment  on  that  hand  of  hers  that  lay  slender  as 
a  willow  leaf  in  his,  but  the  riddle  was  a  puzzle  no  longer. 
Abashed,  she  had  surprised  a  secret. 

She  had  caught  herself  wishing — half  wishing — she  did 
not  quite  know  what — that  she  too  had  taken  off  her  glove. 

Her  colour  lasted  for  half-a-minute ;  then,  perhaps  be- 
cause of  the  colour,  her  voice  became  matter-of-fact.  She 
glanced  up  at  him. 

"  I'm  sorry  you  failed  in  your  examination,"  she  said. 


154  THE    STORY    OF   LOUIE 

Louie  was  tall,  but  his  head  was  clear  and  away  above 
hers.  He  looked  down,  earnest,  anxious,  smiling,  all  three. 

"  It  doesn't  matter,"  he  said.  "  Why  should  it  ?  "  he 
added. 

Louie  had  thought  that  it  had  mattered  a  great  deal,  but 
she  was  still  a  little  bewildered.  Even  out  of  the  answer 
to  the  riddle  another  seemed  to  have  sprung  already.  She 
laughed  a  little. 

"  Oh — only  that  one  doesn't  like  to  be  beaten,"  she  said. 

This  too  he  seemed  to  give  profound  yet  (if  such  a  thing 
may  be)  absentminded  attention. 

"  Is  anybody  ever  beaten  ?  "  he  asked  slowly.  "  I  mean, 
unless  they  deserve  to  be  ?  " 

Archie  and  Evie  Soames  had  just  overtaken  them  again, 
laughing  together,  as,  hand  in  hand,  they  took  a  running 
glide  towards  the  door.  His  remark  came  oddly  from  a 
doubly  beaten  man.  What  then  did  he  call  a  beating  ?  .  .  . 
She  looked  covertly  at  the  two  hands  again. 

"  But — mayn't  circumstances  be  too  strong  for  you  ?  " 

This  again  he  considered.  "  Circumstances  are  strong," 
he  admitted.  "  But  then,  if  one's  a  fool,  so  are  a  good 
many  other  people.  There's  always  that  chance,  you  see." 

He  spoke  as  gently  as  if  he  had  been,  speaking  to  a  child, 
but  Louie  suddenly  found  herself  wondering  whether  he 
had  accepted  the  inevitable  after  all.  This  hardly  sounded 
like  it.  She  spoke  quietly. 

"  Nobody  thinks  you're  a  fool  just  because  you  failed — 
at  least  I  don't." 

"  Failed  ?  "  he  repeated,  as  if  puzzled. ..."  Oh,  you  mean 
the  examination  !  Of  course  I  ought  never  to  have  gone  in 
for  it.  (Oh  dear,  another  bump — I'm  afraid  you  find  me 
hopeless)." 

"  Not  have  gone  in  for  it  ?    Why  ?  " 

The  lion's  eyes  looked  at  her  in  surprise. 


SUTHERLAND    PLACE  155 

"  Why  ?  Why,  because  I  failed."  He  seemed  to 
consider  it  an  entirely  conclusive  answer. 

"  But  you'll  surely  try  again  ?  "  said  Louie. 

"  Eh  ?  '  Try,'  did  you  say  ?  ...  Oh,  the  men  who  have 
to  try  are  no  good.  For  that  matter  it's  always  the  duffers 
who  try  the  hardest.  I  admit  they  pull  it  off,  but  then 
things  are  arranged  so  that  the  duffers  can  pull  them  off — 
have  to  be,  I  suppose.  But  the  men  who  aren't  duffers " 

He  stopped  suddenly. 

"  What  ?  "  she  said. 

But  once  more  she  had  the  feeling  that  she  had  only  just 
swum  into  the  field  of  his  vision.  It  was  singularly  dis- 
concerting. His  smile,  which  had  disappeared,  appeared 
again.  He  seemed  to  remember  that  he  was  at  a  dance. 

"  I  suppose  you're  coming  back  after  Christmas  ?  "  he 
said. 

It  was  not  very  likely,  but  she  said :  "  Very  likely.  You 
were  saying,  about  the  men  who  aren't  duffers " 

Again  he  got  her  focus.  "  Was  I  ?  Well,  there  aren't 
so  many  of  them  that  we  need  bother  about  them.  So  you 
are  coming  back  ?  " 

Louie  found  him  extraordinary,  unclassifiable.  She 
could  not  say  that  his  answers  were  not  ready ;  they  were 
instant  to  the  point ;  but  somehow  they  weren't  answers. 
Of  course,  they  were  answers  if  you  liked,  but  they  seemed 
in  some  way  to  be  private  communings  as  well.  She 
wondered  whether  he  was  in  the  habit  of  talking  much  to 
himself ;  he  spoke  rather  as  if  he  was — as  if,  his  consciousness 
of  her  presence  notwithstanding,  he  considered  himself  to  be 
as  good  as  alone  now. 

Louie  had  heard  the  expression  "  second  self  " — well, 
this,  "  second  self  "  or  not,  was  certainly  a  curious  accord. 
And  then  he  allowed  that  deliberate,  altogether  discordant 
smile  (that  might  just  as  well  have  been  hooked  round  his 


156  THE    STORY    OF    LOUIE 

ears  like  a  false  beard)  to  come  between,  and  asked  her  if 
she  was  coming  back  after  Christmas ! 

Then — this  came  suddenly — she  knew  for  a  certainty 
what  hitherto  had  hung  in  doubt — that  she  would  not  be 
coming  back  after  Christmas.  She  must  sit  down.  Of 
course,  it  was  to  have  been  expected.  She  had  been  unwise 
to  dance. 

She  spoke  faintly.     "  Please  take  me  to  a  seat." 

Quite  automatically  he  did  so.  He  led  her  to  the  E  of 
reference-books.  The  waltz  closed.  So  did  Louie's  eyes. 

"  Please  leave  me  alone  for  a  few  minutes,"  she  mur- 
mured. 

He  bowed,  and  retired  as  automatically  as  he  had  come. 

In  a  few  minutes  she  felt  better,  but  she  still  sat  in  the 
little  book-lined  recess.  Her  eyes  remained  closed,  but 
not  now  altogether  from  faintness.  She  heard  Mr  Mackie's 
voice,  apparently  a  long  way  off,  shouting,  "  Come  on — let's 
get  the  ice  broken  !  "  and  partners  were  being  chosen  for 
the  Shop-Girl  Lancers.  More  minutes  passed.  Louie, 
her  eyes  still  closed,  had  begun  once  more  to  think  of  that 
secret  she  had  surprised  within  herself. 

She  doubted  herself  profoundly  now.  For  all  she  now 
knew  her  nature  might  contain  other  such  secrets  as  this 
that  had  sent  the  warm  blood  into  her  cheeks  at  a  touch — 
nay,  at  the  thought  of  a  touch.  She  might  have,  so  to 
speak,  a  basic,  unsuspected  layer  of  them,  needing  only  to 
be  stirred  to  provide  surprise  after  surprise.  Those  surprises 
might  make  all  she  had  hitherto  known — all — seem  stupid 
and  flat  and  commonplace.  If  so,  why  must  the  discovery 
come  now  ?  Secrets  from  herself — now  ?  Impossible  ! 

But,  as  if  limned  on  her  closed  lids,  she  saw  the  two  hands 
again,  her  own  like  a  lanceolate  leaf,  lying  within  that  great 
masculine  engine  of  his. 

And  all  at  once  she  felt  unutterably  lonely. 


SUTHERLAND    PLACE  157 

It  was  some  time  before  she  opened  her  eyes  again.  By 
that  time  Mr  Mackie  had  succeeded  in  breaking  the  ice. 
The  floor  shook  to  the  fourth  figure  of  the  Shop-Girl 
Lancers,  and  Louie  saw,  beyond  the  reference-books,  the 
Alcazar  beauty  swung  clear  off  the  ground,  a  goldfish  whirl- 
ing almost  horizontally  past.  Miss  Levey's  skirts  followed, 
their  owner  crying,  "  Help,  help  !"..."  For  it  ain't  the 
proper  way  to  treat  a  la-ady  /  "  Mr  Mackie's  jubilant  voice 
sang — and  when  the  figure  ended  there  were  shouts  and 
clappings  of  hands  and  uproarious  cries  of  "  Again,  again  !  " 

By-and-by  Louie  rose.  She  walked  up  the  room  again. 
At  the  piano  Mr  Mackie,  who  was  to  sing,  was  now  con- 
fidentially humming  the  air  of  his  song  into  the  hired 
pianist's  ear.  Mr  Jeffries,  once  more  looking  as  if  he  needed 
a  niche  and  a  plinth,  was  standing  in  his  original  place, 
by  the  folding  door.  Miss  Levine  and  Archie  Merridew 
were  half  hidden  behind  the  piano ;  and  Kitty  Windus, 
radiant,  was  openly  flirting  with  the  pale  student  called 
Richardson.  Evie  Soames  had  just  spoken  to  Mr  Jeffries  ; 
she  was  sulking  at  Archie's  desertion  of  her.  Then  Mr 
Weston  announced,  solemnly  and  distinctly,  that  Mr  Mackie 
was  about  to  add  to  the  enjoyment  of  all  present  by  singing 
a  song  entitled  "  That  Gorgonzola  Cheese."  Applause 
greeted  the  announcement,  and  Mr  Mackie,  who  had  slipped 
behind  the  piano  for  a  moment  and  returned  with  his  coat 
on  the  wrong  side  out,  began. 

Louie  found  herself  once  more  by  the  side  of  Mr  Jeffries. 

"  I  should  like  some  coffee,"  she  said. 

The  coffee  was  in  an  adjoining  room.  For  the  first  time 
since  she  had  been  at  the  School  Louie  did  not  want  to  hear 
Mr  Mackie. 

But  the  hint  was  lost  on  Mr  Jeffries. 

"  Eh  ?  Certainly,"  he  said,  and  went  away  in  search  of 
the  coffee. 


158  THE    STORY    OF    LOUIE 

"  '  Oh — that — Gorgonzola  Cheese  ! '  " 

Mr  Mackie  sang, 

"  '  It  nrnst  have  been  unhealthy,  I  suppose, 
For  the  old  Tom  Cat  fell  dead  upon  the  mat 
When  the  niff  got  up  his  nose  ! '" 

Kitty  was  laughing  almost  hysterically. 

"  '  Talk  about  the  flavour  of  the  crackling  of  the  pork  ! 
I  guess  it  wasn't  half  so  strong 
As  the  delicate  effluvia  that  filled  our  house 
When  the  Gorgonzola  Cheese  went  wrong  ! ' " 

Mr  Jeffries  had  returned  with  Louie's  coffee,  but  Louie 
barely  touched  it.  Great  stupid  fellow! 

Then  he  turned  to  her  with  some  merely  banal  remark, 
and  Louie,  giving  it  all  the  answer  it  deserved,  turned  and 
left  him. 

That  unspeakable  loneliness  had  come  upon  her  again. 

Louie  made  no  further  attempt  to  talk  to  Mr  Jeffries. 
She  watched  another  dance,  heard  Mr  Weston  recite  "  The 
Raven,"  and  then  went  to  the  cloakroom  for  her  shawl. 
There  she  came  upon  Kitty  Windus,  who  had  found  it 
necessary  to  do  up  her  hair  again. 

"  You  surely  aren't  going  ?  "  Kitty  exclaimed.  She 
herself  was  a-tremble  with  flirtation  and  happiness.  "  Why, 
you're  as  bad  as  Mr  Jeffries !  Though  I  will  admit  that 
even  he  came  out  of  his  shell  for  once.  I  shall  begin  to 
think  Miriam's  right  soon  ! "  She  gave  Louie  an  arch 
look. 

Louie's  opinion  was  that  Mr  Jeffries  had  never  been  more 
completely  concealed  in  his  shell  than  he  had  been  that 
even,  but  "  Oh,  has  he  gone  ?  "  she  said  indifferently. 

"  Yes,  a  few  minutes  ago.  Isn't  everything  going  splen- 
didly !  Why,  Mr  Mackie's  a  host  in  himself  !  " 

"  Quite,"  said  Louie,  passing  her  shawl  over  her  head. 


SUTHERLAND    PLACE  159 

"  I  suppose  we  shall  see  you  in  the  morning  ?  "  said  Kitty. 
"  Everybody's  coming  to  help  to  clear  away." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Louie. 

And  as  the  piano  broke  into  the  prelude  to  the  waltz 
cotillion  she  left. 

But  she  did  not  leave  that  dingy  Holborn  third  floor, 
never  to  enter  it  again,  without  a  grateful  word  to  Mr 
Mackie.  She  came  upon  him  on  a  landing.  His  trousers 
were  French-chalked  almost  to  the  knees  with  the  vigour 
of  his  dancing,  and  for  his  next  song  he  had  put  on  a  false 
nose  with  blue  whiskers  attached  to  it.  He  was  making 
sure  that  the  adornment  did  not  interfere  with  his  whistle. 

"  Good-bye,  Mr  Mackie,"  said  Louie,  holding  out  her 
hand. 

Mr  Mackie  stopped  the  whistle.  "  What,  you  toddling, 
Miss  Causton  ?  "  he  said.  "  Why,  we  ain't  properly 
warmed  up  yet !  " 

"  I  must  go.  And  " — she  smiled  almost  fondly  at  him — 
"  I  should  like  to  thank  you." 

Mr  Mackie  was  quite  conscious  of  desert.  "  Not  at  all," 
he  said.  "  You  mean  the  '  Gorgonzola  Cheese,'  I  suppose  ? 
Went  all  right,  didn't  it  ?  Never  known  that  song  fail  yet : 
it  always  gets  'em " 

"  Oh,  for  more  than  that.  If  you're  ever  thinking  of 
setting  up  a  cure  I  daresay  I  could  find  you  a  few  patients. 
You're  wonderful.  Good-bye." 

"  Say  olive  oil,  but  not  good-bye — and  Merry  Christmas," 
said  Mr  Mackie. 

But  Louie  knew  that  it  was  good-bye. 


PART  THREE 
MORTLAKE  ROAD 


ON  a  sunny  morning  in  mid-January  Louie  Gauston  went 
to  see,  but  not  necessarily  to  be  seen  by,  her  father.  Cap- 
tain Cecil  Chaffinger  accompanied  her.  As  they  walked 
across  Richmond  Park  they  talked. 

"  You're  sure  the  walk  isn't  too  much  for  you,  Mops  ?  " 
said  the  Captain  solicitously. 

She  pressed  his  arm.  "  No,  I'm  ever  so  much  better  for 
it." 

"  We  could  get  a  cart  or  something  at  the  Star  and  Garter, 
you  know." 

"  I'd  much  rather  walk,  Chaff.  We  can  take  the  train 
back." 

"  All  right,  little^Mops." 

They  walked  for  a  few  minutes  in  silence  ;  then — 

"  That  woman  wasn't — wasn't  a  beast,  was  she  ?  "  Chaff 


"MrsLeggat?" 

"  If  that's  her  name.    I  mean,  there  was  no  row  ?  " 

"  Not  the  least  in  the  world." 

The  Captain  tugged  at  his  moustache.  "  H'm  !  Not  like 
you.  Ever  leave  anywhere  without  a  row  before,  Mops  ?  " 

Louie  laughed  a  little.  "  Now  you  mention  it,  I  don't 
think  I  ever  did,"  she  admitted.  "  But  there  wasn't  a  word 
said.  She  knew,  and  I  knew  she  knew.  So  I  cleared  out. 
That  was  all.  She  made  me  some  beef -tea  before  I  left." 

Again  they  walked  in  silence. 

The  daintiest  of  hoar-frosts  lay  over  the  Park  ;  on  Putney 
Heath  they  had  passed  skaters.  The  keen  wind  had  red- 

163 


164  THE    STORY    OF   LOUIE 

dened  the  Captain's  nose,  and  Louie  could  not  help  smiling 
as  he  took  out  his  handkerchief  for  the  twentieth  time.  She 
had  remembered  Mr  Mackie. 

"  Ought  to  have  a  silk  one  a  day  like  this,"  Chaff  grunted, 
blowing  hard.  "  Makes  you  perfectly  raw.  ...  I  say,  dear 
old  Mops " 

"  What,  old  boy  ?  " 

"  Anything  /  could  have  done,  you  know " 

She  squeezed  his  arm  again.  "  I  shall  be  giving  you 
plenty  to  do  presently.  And  you  say  he's  not  a  bad  sort." 

"  Oh "  said  the  Captain  doubtfully. 

"  Well,  you'll  take  me  in,  and  then  wait  outside  till  I've 
seen  for  myself." 

But  at  that  Chaff  rebelled.  "Hanged  if  I  do — dash  it 
alh,  it's  a  public-house !  You'll  find  me  in  the  parlour  or 
whatever  it  is." 

"  How  old  is  he  ?  " 

"  Let  me  see  :  he'll  be  fifty.  Yes,  he'll  be  fifty.  Your 
mother's  fifty-four." 

"  You'll  remember  your  promise,  Chaff  ?  " 

"  About  where  you  are  ?  Oh,  I'll  be  mum  as  the  grave. 
Don't  you  forget  yours." 

"  No.     You  shall  come  and  see  me." 

The  Captain  sighed.  His  Mops  was  a  strange  being. 
That  fool  Moone  had  taken  the  wrong  way  with  her,  but 
a  better  way  might  have  been  found  than  this.  Well, 
Chaff  would  have  a  word  or  two  with  Mr  Buck  Causton 
himself. 

They  continued  their  walk. 

When  Louie  had  first  resolved  that  she  would  seek  her 
father,  nothing  had  seemed  more  natural.  In  prospect, 
the  thing  had  been  simplicity  itself.  But  it  was,  somehow, 
less  simple  now.  Indeed,  its  difficulties  had  increased 


MORTLAKE   ROAD  165 

with  every  step  she  took.  What  about  Buck  ?  Must  he 
necessarily  make  her  so  very  welcome  ?  Suppose,  when 
she  made  her  announcement,  he  should  shake  hands,  ask 
how  her  mother  was,  offer  her  tea  (or  whatever  publicans 
did  offer  ladies),  say  he  had  been  very  glad  to  see  her,  and 
let  her  go  again  ?  How,  in  the  face  of  that,  could  she  say : 
"  I  am  your  daughter  ;  I  really  don't  know  why  I  have 
come  ;  I  have  stayed  away  a  good  long  time,  but  here  I  am, 
needing  friends ;  why  I  need  friends  I  will  explain  to  your 
wife."  Was  it  not  likely  that  Buck  had  had  more  than 
enough  of  her  family  ? 

Had  Chaff,  as  they  descended  to  Kingston,  once  more 
urged  that  she  was  on  a  wild-goose  chase,  as  likely  as  not 
she  would  have  turned  back  at  the  first  word. 

They  reached  Buck's  public-house — The  Molyneux  Arms, 
near  the  corner  of  Kingston  Bridge. 

"Well,"  said  Chaff,  stopping,  "what  do  we  do  now, 
Mops  ?  " 

"We  go  in,  I  suppose,"  said  Louie.  Without  pausing, 
she  moved  towards  the  largest  door  (there  was  "  Public 
Bar  "  written  upon  it)  of  an  establishment  that,  if  it  lacked 
the  garishness  of  a  modern  drinking-palace,  was  yet 
not  quite  the  red-curtained,  lattice-windowed,  Christmas- 
number  hostelry  of  Louie's  imaginings.  But  Chaff,  with  a 
"  No,  not  there,"  drew  her  round  the  corner  to  a  quieter 
door,  where  small  bay-trees  stood  in  green  tubs.  The 
step  had  a  brightly  polished  brass  sill  and  a  thick  rubber 
mat  perforated  with  the  name  "  Molyneux  Arms."  Beyond 
the  little  vestibule  were  double  doors  with  cut-glass  panels 
and  a  diagonal  brass  bar  on  each  and  a  piston  for  automatic 
closing  at  the  top. 

"  Perhaps  you'd  better  wait  here,"  said  Chaff. 

"  All  right,"  said  Louie,  now  heartily  wishing  she  had  not 
left  her  new  abode  in  Mortlake  Road,  Putney. 


166  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

With  a  soft  sigh  of  the  piston,  the  brass-barred  doors 
closed  behind  Chaff. 

This  entrance  lay  in  a  short  blind  alley  off  the  main  street, 
the  end  of  which  seemed  to  be  closed  by  a  stableyard. 
Somebody  over  a  brick  wall  was  walking  a  horse  over 
cobbles,  and  a  man's  voice  muttered,  "  Come  up."  There 
was  a  light  clashing  of  harness,  and  the  same  voice  began 
a  soft  but  strong  singing,  hoisting  itself  to  the  higher  notes 
as  if  the  interpolated  aspirates  had  been  so  many  stirrups  : 

"  No  re-(/t)est — but  the  gra-(A)ave 
For  the  pi-(A)ilgrim  of  Love  ! " 

Then  a  back  door  opened,  and  a  woman's  voice  was  heard. 

"  A  gentleman  to  see  you,  James." 

The  song  ceased.  "  A  what,  Susan  ?  "  said  the  man's 
voice.  "  Remember " 

"  A  gentleman — in  a  top  hat,"  said  the  second  voice. 

"  You  know  that  travellers  sometimes  have  top  hats, 
Susan,"  cautioned  the  first  voice. 

"  I'm  sure  it's  a  gentleman,  James " 

"  Very  well,  let  us  hope  you're  not  mistaken  and  that 
you  were  hooked  up  behind.  Ask  the  gentleman  to  wait 
a  minute." 

The  voices  ceased. 

Instinctively  Louie  had  walked  to  a  half-open  coach 
door  and  had  looked  through.  She  saw  a  bright  little 
picture.  A  horse  was  being  put  into  a  gay  yellow  trap, 
and  the  man  who  was  buckling  the  harness  had  begun  to 
sing  again': 

"  Oryn— thia,  my  Beloved  ! " 

All  that  Louie  could  see  of  him  was  a  pair  of  glossy  black 
boots  and  a  pair  of  grey  check  trousers  cut  close  about  the 
knee.  The  harness  twinkled  ;  the  horse's  coat  shone  in  the 
sun  like  Mr  Jeffries'  hair  ;  and  somebody  within  the  stable 


MORTLAKE   ROAD  167 

was  running  water  into  a  bucket.  Then  the  man  came 
round  the  horse,  and  she  saw  him — cropped  silver  hair, 
long  dewlapped  chin,  and  a  back  and  shoulders  that  might 
have  served  Henson's  turn  yet.  And  as  Louie  watched, 
with  no  more  emotion  than  if  the  scene  had  been  one  on  a 
coloured  bioscope,  he  sang  again  : 

"  Oryn— thia,  my  Beloved  ! " 

Then,  as  she  watched,  it  came  over  her  for  the  first  time 
that  she  had  planned  and  was  performing  a  suspect  thing. 
She  had  no  right  to  inspect  this  man  and  then  to  know  him 
or  not  to  know  him,  as  she  chose.  He  had  no  less  right  to 
inspect  her.  She,  not  he,  stood  to  gain ;  cards  on  the 
table,  then  ;  either  she  must  go  away  at  once,  taking  Chaff 
with  her,  or  else  take  her  courage  in  both  hands  without 
further  spying. 

Which  was,  perhaps,  as  much  as  to  say  that  she  had 
already  seen  and  was  willing  to  risk  it. 

She  passed  through  the  half -open  door  into  the  yard. 

Yet  even  as  she  advanced  she  had  a  final  cowardice. 
By  a  man  at  any  rate,  anything  would  be  forgiven  her,  and 
she  really  had  had  a  long  walk.  .  .  .  There  was  a  bench 
by  the  stable  door.  .  .  .  But  she  pulled  herself  together. 
No,  not  that.  She  was  not  faint,  only  very,  very  pale. 
She  continued  to  advance. 

Then  Buck  looked  up,  and  their  eyes  met. 

They  say  of  a  newly  born  infant  that  your  first  impression 
of  facial  resemblance  is  that  to  which  the  child,  grown  a 
man,  will  return.  So  perhaps  it  was  for  one  moment  with 
father  and  daughter.  But,  if  so,  it  passed  instantly.  Buck 
made  an  upward,  deferential  gesture  of  his  fore-finger. 

"  Sha'n't  be  three  minutes,  m'm,"  he  said.  "  Now, 
Judson,  the  lady's  here !  He's  just  ready,  m'm.  A 
beautiful  day ! " 


168  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

Then  something  in  Louie's  look  seemed  to  strike 
him. 

"  It  is  for  Mrs  Allonby's,  m'm,  isn't  it  ?  For  one-fifteen  ; 
one-fifteen  Allonby,  Richards,  seven  to-night.  You  needn't 
have  come  ;  he'll  be  there  sharp." 

Louie  was  looking  steadily  at  her  father.  "  You've  made 
a  mistake,"  she  said. 

"  What  ?    Hi,  Judson  !    What's  this  ?  " 

"  I  came — I  came — with  the  gentleman  who's  just 

asked  for  you.  Don't  you — don't  you "  she  faltered 

and  stopped. 

"  But  aren't  you  from  Mrs  Allonby's  ?  " 

Louie  was  conscious  that  she  was  becoming  pitifully 
flurried.  She  could  not  believe  now  that  she  had  ever 
thought  this  would  be  an  easy  thing  to  do.  And  she  would 
have  to  do  it  all  herself ;  he  had  a  handsome,  slightly 
pompous  face,  but  it  was  not  the  face  of  a  man  who 
apprehends  things  by  intuition.  She  tried  again. 

"  You  are  Mr  Causton,  aren't  you  ?  " 

"  Beg  pardon,  m'm  ?  You  see,  one  ear —  The  Piker 

had  burst  the  drum  of  one  of  Buck's  ears.  He  inclined  his 
head.  "  What  did  you  say,  m'm  ?  " 

Suddenly  Louie  put  one  hand  on  the  shaft  of  the  trap 
and  sank  half  sitting  on  the  step.  The  trap  dipped.  Her 
pallor  was  now  extreme. 

"  The  gentleman  who  wishes  to  see  you "  she  began 

again. 

"  Yes,  m'm  ?  " 

"  I — I  came  with  him " 

"  Yes,  m'm — aren't  you  well,  m'm  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  know  me  ?  " 

"  If  it  isn't  Mrs  Allonby's,  one-fifteen "  said  Buck. 

"  His  name — the  gentleman's  name — 

Then,  as  the  horse  lifted  a  foot,  she  slipped  a  little  on 


MORTLAKE   ROAD  169 

the  step.  She  might  not  have  fallen,  but  his  old  and 
instinctive  muscular  discipline  counted  for  something. 
Buck  had  made  a  remarkably  swift  movement,  and  his 
arm  now  supported  her.  Suddenly  she  surrendered  her 
weight  to  him. 

"  Here,  m'm,"  said  the  astonished  Buck,  "  come  and  set 
down  on  the  bench." 

Louie  turned  up  entreating  eyes.     "  You  can't  guess  ?  " 

"  If  it's  Richards,  seven 

"  The  gentleman's  name — I  came  with — is  Chaf- 
finger " 

"  YOU  said ?  " 

"  Chaffinger." 

She  was  too  close  to  him  to  notice  that  he  too  had 
suddenly  become  white.  He  still  held  her,  but  slowly 
half  a  cubic  foot  of  air  came  from  his  chest.  Probably 
with  a  purely  mechanical  movement  he  set  her  on  her  feet. 
His  hand  was  at  his  sound  ear. 

"  Will  you  say  it  again,  m'm  ?  "  he  said  huskily. 

Louie  did  so. 

"  Gap-Captain  Chaffinger,  m'm  ?  " 

"  Oh,"  Louie  choked,  "  don't  call  me  '  m'm  ' !  " 

"  You  did  say  Captain  Chaffinger  ?  " 

Then,  leaning  limply  against  the  shaft,  Louie  began  to 
speak  low  and  rapidly. 

"  Send  me  away  if  you  like — perhaps  I  was  stupid  to 
come — but  I  wanted — I  wanted — I  couldn't  bear  it  any 
longer — I'm  all  alone — father  !  I'm  Louie — Louie " 

Only  Buck's  Maker  knows  whether  even  then  he  fully 
understood.  His  grey  eyes  were  stupidly  on  her  grey  eyes. 
Her  voice,  as  she  continued  to  mutter  broken  phrases, 
possibly  lost  itself  in  his  deaf  ear  ;  but  some  other  sense 
informed  him  that  she  was  telling  him  that  she  was  his 
daughter — his  daughter 


170 

And  then  at  one  of  her  phrases,  he  seemed  to  come 
sluggishly  to  life.  He  repeated  the  phrase  after  her. 

"  Putney,  m'm  ?    Did  you  say  Putney  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Yes,  I  live  there- 

"  You  live  in  Putney  ?    Whereabouts  in  Putney  ?  " 

"  Mortlake  Eoad." 

Buck  made  another  sluggish  effort.  A  quarter  of  a 
century  and  more  before  he  had  said  to  the  Honourable 
Emily  :  "  The  Bible,  Miss  ?  "  Now  he  said  to  his  daughter  : 
"  The  Mortlake  Road  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so." 

"  You  live  there  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

Now  Mallard  Bois  and  Trant  were  more  than  geographi- 
cally remote  from  Buck.  They  had  the  immeasurable 
remoteness  of  the  Scarisbricks.  But  Putney  was  near. 
To  keep  himself  in  spring  and  condition,  he  frequently 
walked  over  to  Putney.  Putney  was  a  place  you  could 
walk  to,  and  it  had  streets  and  houses  and  a  green  Tillings' 
bus.  And  they  rowed  the  boat  race  there.  Therefore, 
while  it  outraged  all  Order  that  a  Scarisbrick  should  live 
there,  that  fact  nevertheless  brought  his  daughter  into  the 
same  world  with  himself.  For  the  first  time  he  looked 
seeingly  at  her,  and  as  he  looked,  there  vanished,  more 
quickly  than  a  finger  is  snapped,  whatever  images  of  her 
had  beguiled  his  fancy  through  the  years. 

This,  then,  was  she,  standing  against  the  shaft  with 
head  back,  lips  parted,  brows  entreatingly  drawn,  her 
whole  pose  an  appeal. 

"  Father,"  she  was  saying,  smiling  crookedly  through 
those  rare  things,  her  tears 

Judson  came  out  of  the  stable.  Buck  gave  him  a  curt 
order,  and  the  trap  moved  away.  Its  departure  left  Louie 
standing  by  the  little  bench  outside  the  stable  door.  Buck 


MORTLAKE   ROAD  171 

had  taken  a  step  towards  her.  He  was  murmuring  some- 
thing quite  ridiculous — something  about  "  strictly  for  the 
gentry."  Perhaps  he  remembered  that  had  his  little  girl 
been  a  little  boy  he  would  have  given  her  instruction  for 
nothing  at  the  Sparring  Academy  in  Bruton  Street. 

All  in  a  moment  he  passed  his  arm  about  Louie.  Scaris- 
brick  or  not,  she  was  going  to  be  a  Causton  and  his  for 
once — just  for  once.  In  an  hour  he  might  be  calling  her 
"  m'm  "  again,  but  just  for  once — his  face  was  beautiful. 

"  That  little  girl,"  he  said  foolishly,  holding  her  with  as 
gentle  a  fear  as  if  she  had  been  still  in  her  cradle. 

Louie's  answer  was  to  faint  suddenly  on  his  breast. 

But  of  the  Molyneux  Arms  in  a  moment.  A  word  about 
Mortlake  Road  first. 

Two  houses  had  been  thrown  into  one  to  form  the 
establishment  at  which  Louie  had  now  resided  for  a  week. 
Officially  it  was  a  nursing  home  ;  actually  it  accepted 
declared  invalids  and  quite  well  but  unrobust  lodgers 
alike.  Miss  Cora  Mayville  "  ran  "  it ;  her  cousin,  Miss  Dot 
Mayville,  was  "  sister,"  and  from  four  to  eight  uniformed 
nurses  came  and  went  continually.  None  of  them  had 
theories,  moral,  social,  or  of  any  other  description  ;  to 
them  things  were  as  they  were.  Nurse  Meekins  made 
Louie's  bed  as  who  should  say,  "  Helpers  of  people  in 
trouble  do  not  go  beyond  their  proper  business  "  ;  Nurse 
Chalmers  brought  her  letters  or  called  her  to  dinner  in 
the  narrowminded  spirit  of  one  who  leaves  the  systematics 
of  charity  to  others.  All  were  reprehensibly  incurious  and 
shockingly  affectionate,  and  so  far  was  Louie's  case  from 
being  peculiar  that,  in  the  eyes  of  the  law  at  any  rate,  Miss 
Dot  Mayville  was  herself  twice  a  parent.  Twice  (when, 
from  reasons  Lord  Moone  could  have  explained,  the  real 
parents  had  refused  to  do  so)  she  had  signed  the  birth- 


172  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

certificates  of  undesired  infants.  This  irregularity  the 
registrar  for  the  district  held  perpetually  over  her  head. 
She  laughed,  and  held  other  things  over  his  head  in  return. 
They  were  engaged  to  be  married. 

It  was  to  this  retreat  that  Buck  drove  Louie  back  that 
January  evening,  cutting  "  Richards,  seven  "  without  com- 
punction. Poor  Chaff  had  been  sent  off  soon  after  lunch  ; 
there  was  somebody  else  to  fetch  and  despatch  his  Mops 
now.  Buck  lifted  Louie  from  the  trap  and  rang  the  bell 
of  one  of  the  two  brass-plated  doors.  A  German  youth 
dressed  as  a  waiter  appeared,  and  Buck  bade  him  hold  the 
horse.  Then  he  went  with  Louie  up  to  her  room.  He  took 
off  her  hat  and  coat  for  her ;  he  seemed  unable  to  leave  her. 
He  had  learned  how  it  was  with  her. 

He  had  hardly  turned  a  hair  at  the  news.  He  accepted 
it  as  part  of  the  Scheme  of  Things.  To  him  also  indis- 
cretions were  of  two  kinds — indiscretions,  and  the  indis- 
cretions of  the  Scarisbricks.  Only  a  wistful  look  had 
crossed  his  face ;  he  had  hoped  Louie's  somebody  was  a 
gentleman  otherwise  than  in  the  top-hat  sense  of  the  word  ; 
and  Louie  had  reassured  him  about  that.  For  the  rest,  it 
was  not  for  Buck  to  inquire  into  the  private  affairs  of 
these  great  ones.  He  would  as  soon  have  allowed  the 
young  German  who  held  the  horse  to  inquire  into  his 
own. 

"  That  little  girl,"  he  said  once  more,  holding  her  away 
from  him  at  the  side  of  her  bed. 

"  And  you  won't  call  me  '  m'm,'  daddy  ?  "  Louie 
laughed. 

Buck  gave  it  thought ;  it  was  not  so  simple  as  it  looked. 
"  And  you  really  took  daddy's  name  ?  "  he  asked.'  He 
had  asked  it  twenty  times  already. 

"  Of  course." 

"  And  told  all  those  young  ladies  ?  "    (Louie  had  related 


MORTLAKE   ROAD  173 

the  incident  of  Burnett  Minor  and  the  "  Life  and  Battles.") 
"  All  about  daddy  and  the  Piker  ?  " 

"  Of  course  !  " 

Buck  found  it  too  wonderful.  He  enfolded  his  little 
girl  again. 

"  But  you  must  go  now,"  Louie  said  by-and-by. 

"  But  I  can  come  in  the  morning  ?  " 

"  Yes.     And,  daddy " 

"  Little  girl  ?  " 

"  You'll  be  good  to  poor  old  Ohafi  ?  He's  fond  of  me 
too." 

Buck  promised  that  he  would.  Had  there  been  none 
other,  the  tantrums  of  the  Honourable  Emily  were  no 
doubt  bond  enough  between  them* 

The  next  morning  Buck  had  to  be  told  that  eight  o'clock 
was  too  early  for  a  visit,  and  so,  on  the  next  morning  again, 
he  did  not  turn  up  until  eleven.  After  that  eleven  became 
his  accustomed  hour.  Wet  or  fine  was  the  same  to  Mm, 
and  he  cancelled  all  afternoon  orders  for  the  trap  ;  his  little 
girl  must  have  the  trap  at  her  disposal  for  a  daily  drive. 
And  because  his  fidelity  to  the  Social  Order  and  their  own 
professional  tolerances  amounted  in  Louie's  case  to  pretty 
much  the  same  thing,  the  nurses  one  and  all  fell  in  love 
with  Buck. 

And  here,  once  for  all,  or  at  any  rate  for  a  long  time,  a 
cogent  matter  may  be  dismissed,  even  as  those  pagan  nurses 
dismissed  it.  It  is  Louie's  conviction  of  moral  guilt  as 
apart  from  her  persuasion  of  the  practical  inconveniences 
of  it.  Louie  Causton  would  have  been  poor  stuff  for  the 
hot  gospeller  to  practise  upon.  There  were  things  she 
would  have  had  undone,  and  that  not  merely  because  the 
consequences  pressed  upon  her ;  as  they  could  not  be 
undone,  she  had  begun  the  tune  and  intended  to  fiddle  it 
out.  What  she  saw  fit  to  hide  her  historian  hides  also. 


174  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

Louie  seized  what  happiness  she  could,  and  it  served. 
She  was  sorrier  for  Chaff  than  she  was  for  herself. 
She  would  have  been  less  happy  had  she  taken  Uncle 
Augustus's  way  out. 

And  whether  the  days  were  happy  or  not,  at  any  rate 
they  were  peacefully  alike.  Breakfast  with  the  nurses, 
a  morning  or  afternoon  drive  with  Buck  or  ai  walk  along  the 
river  bank  or  on  Putney  Heath,  tea  (if  they  drove)  perhaps 
at  Kingston,  supper  with  the  nurses  again,  and  bed — that 
was  the  tale  of  them.  She  kept  her  promise  to  Chaff ; 
several  times  he  came  to  see  her.  Twice  he  met  Buck. 
At  these  meetings  the  shade  of  the  Honourable  Emily 
almost  visibly  presided.  .  .  .  Chaff  tried  to  talk  of  "Lives 
and  Battles,"  Buck  of  the  same — it  was  not  for  him  to  choose 
topics  before  his  betters.  And  once,  but  once  only,  Buck 
brought  Mrs  Buck,  formerly  Susan  Emmidge,  the  chemist's 
servant  at  Mallard  Bois.  He  hooked  her  up  behind  him- 
self before  they  left  Kingston,  and  Louie  did  her  the  same 
service  at  the  end  of  the  visit.  For  the  rest,  if  Louie 
wanted  to  see  her  father's  second  wife  she  had  to  go  to  the 
Molyneux  Arms  to  do  so. 


II 


As  the  singer  of  "  The  Pilgrim  of  Love  "  Buck  was  known 
far  and  abroad  up  the  Thames.  It  will  be  believed  that  he 
contrived  to  get  an  infinite  personal  pathos  into  the  song  ; 
he  also  made  of  it,  by  means  of  those  gratuitous  aspirates, 
an  affective  athletic  exercise  in  breathing. 

"  No  re-(7i)est — but  the  gra-(A)ave 
For  the  Pi-(A)ilgrim  of  Love  ! " 

As  he  closed   his  eyes  at  each  soaring,  the  effect  was 


MORTLAKE   ROAD  175 

as  if  he  inwardly  looked  back  on  that  remarkable  pilgrimage 
of  his  own.  Bidden  to  marry,  he  had  married  ;  bidden  to 
unmarry  and  to  marry  again,  he  had  done  so ;  and  at  a  word 
from  Louie  he  would  have  taken  up  the  pilgrimage  once 
more. 

But  while  Buck  exalted  the  Scarisbricks  high  above 
himself,  so  also  he  exalted  himself  high  above  all  beneath 
him.  He  ruled  the  Molyneux  Arms  with  a  rod  of  iron. 
Only  mediately  and  through  him  would  the  two  barmaids 
have  dared  to  address  Louie ;  and  his  wife's  position  was 
altogether  anomalous.  It  was  only  because  Louie  would 
have  it  so  that  she  sat  down  to  tea  with  them  ;  and,  what 
with  her  hooks  and  eyes  and  Buck's  perpetual  admonitions, 
there  was  little  rest  but  the  grave  for  her  either.  Buck 
subscribed  to  the  Almanack  de  Gotha  and  Modern 
Society ;  these  were  always  to  hand ;  but  The  Licensed 
Victuallers'  Gazette,  which  he  took  in  the  way  of  business, 
was  kept  out  of  Louie's  way.  Mr  Mackie  he  would  have 
torn  from  limb  to  limb.  Far  more  royalist  than  the  king 
was  Buck ;  Radicalism  was  chaos,  which  word  he  pro- 
nounced "tchay-oss."  Of  pugilism,  save  to  Chaff,  he 
never  spoke.  "  God  bless  the  Squire  and  his  relations." 

And  (Louie  thought)  God  bless  this  simple-hearted 
father  of  hers  also.  Buck  in  the  ring  had  been  a  better 
man  than  Uncle  Augustus  in  the  House  of  Lords,  and 
Henson  would  not  have  looked  twice  at  Chaff.  Granted  he 
was  pompous  ;  with  a  little  more  pompousness  her  mother 
would  have  come  more  creditably  out  of  that  old  affair. 
So  much  for  the  Scarisbricks.  Already,  in  January,  Louie 
loved  her  father  ;  by  March  his  daily  visit  was  a  necessity 
of  her  life.  She  had  been  right ;  her  destiny  was  quite 
as  likely  to  be  bound  up  with  Buck  and  his  beer-pumps  as 
with  anything  in  that  dingy  old  Business  School. 
Of  the  Business  School  she  still  thought  a  good  deal, 


176  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

however.  She  could  not  forget  the  interesting  little  drama 
of  which  she  had  seen,  as  it  were,  the  first  act.  Somehow, 
time  and  distance  had  simplified  some  of  its  details  without 
diminishing  her  interest  in  it,  and,  as  she  walked  along  the 
Putney  towpath  by  day,  or  lay  awake  in  her  white-painted 
room  at  night,  she  wondered  that  this  should  be  so.  By 
the  brutal  logic  of  events,  Rainham  Parva  should  have  been 
nearer  to  her  than  Holborn ;  but  Kainham  Parva  seemed 
now  disproportionately  remote.  Why  ? 

Had  the  conclusion  which  persisted  in  presenting  itself 
not  been  impossible,  perhaps  she  would  not  have  faced  it 
so  frankly.  It  was  impossible — manifestly  absurd — that 
Mr  Jeffries  should  have  any  hold  on  her  imagination. 
Therefore  she  allowed  herself  to  consider  it.  No  doubt  the 
fancies  which  filled  her  head  would  pass  and  be  forgotten. 

Give  them  a  month,  then — two  months. 

She  gave  them  that,  and  more.  They  did  not  pass. 
But  that,  no  doubt,  was  due  to  the  curious  interrupted 
story.  She  felt  as  if  she  was  reading  an  interesting  serial 
tale,  for  the  next  instalment  of  which  she  was  suddenly 
required  to  wait  another  month.  She  wanted  to  know 
what  was  going  to  happen  among  the  fair,  perky  boy,  the 
girl  who  resembled  Polly  Ross,  the  lionlike  Mr  Jeffries, 
and  that  apocryphal  fourth  actor  in  the  piece.  When 
she  had  learned  that  she  would  close  the  book.  In  the 
meantime  she  occupied  herself,  as  serial  readers  do,  with 
guessing. 

The  spring  was  advancing  towards  May  when  there 
happened  something  that  suddenly  precipitated  her  guess- 
ings.  Buck  still  came  daily,  but  she  walked  more  in  the 
back  garden  of  the  nursing  home  now  and  less  on  the 
heath  and  on  the  towpath,  and  drove,  when  she  did  drive, 
more  slowly.  Sometimes  on  her  drives  a  nurse  accom- 
panied her.  Her  doctor  found  her  health  excellent. 


MORTLAKE   ROAD  177 

The  thing  that  happened  began  with  Richenda  Earle. 
Some  weeks  before,  Louie  had  had  a  letter  from  Richenda 
forwarded  from  Sutherland  Place,  which  she  had  neglected 
to  answer ;  and  Richenda  had  apparently  written  again, 
this  time  to  her  sister.  Louie  now  gathered  that  Mrs 
Leggat  had  kept  the  reason  for  her  disappearance  from 
Mr  Weston,  but  not  from  Richenda.  By  way  of  Richenda 
and  Mr  Weston  it  had  now  reached  the  Business  School. 
A  hastily  scrawled  letter  from  Kitty  Windus  informed 
Louie  of  this.  Kitty  wanted  to  come  and  see  her. 

Well,  there  was  no  reason  why  Kitty  should  not  come. 
Louie  wrote  and  told  her  so. 

She  came  on  a  Saturday  afternoon.  It  was  not  urgently 
necessary  that  Louie  should  have  received  her  in  bed,  but 
the  recollection  of  the  spinster's  peering  eyes  held  some 
obscure  prompting.  Moreover,  to  receive  Kitty  in  bed 
would  be  an  intimation  that  the  call  must  not  be  a  long 
one,  and  she  had  arranged  its  duration  with  Miss  Dot 
Mayville. 

"  Miss  Windus,"  Miss  Dot  announced,  and  Kitty  entered. 

She  had  brought  Louie  a  bunch  of  violets ;  that  was  the 
first  of  several  new  amenities  Louie  noticed  in  her  manner. 
Louie  discouraged  the  second  amenity,  which  was  a  shy 
motion  as  if  to  embrace  her.  And  the  third  showed  when, 
after  a  few  minutes  in  which  Kitty's  fluttered  spirits  had 
become  a  little  calmer  (she  was  not  the  one  to  turn  her 
back  on  people  in  trouble,  she  had  said,  let  others  hold 
up  their  heads  as  they  pleased),  she  wistfully  took  Louie's 
hand  on  the  coverlet.  She  had  cried  over  Louie  a  little. 
Her  eyes  were  still  wet. 

"  Of  course — but  I  don't  know  whether  you've  heard — 
I  might  have  been  just  like  everybody  else,  only  something 
else  has  made  an  awful  difference  too,"  she  said,  her  eyes 
downcast. 

M 


178  THE    STORY    OF   LOUIE 

"  Oh  ?  What  else  ?  "  Louie  asked  a  little  offhandedly. 
She  had  not  wanted  to  be  wept  over. 

"  Oh,  then  you  haven't  heard.  .  .  .  I'm  engaged. 
I've  been  engaged  nearly  two  months." 

"  Really  ?  Then  I  must  congratulate  you.  Is  it  a 
secret  who  to  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Kitty.     "  It's  to  Mr  Jeffries." 

Slowly  Louie  sat  up.  She  turned,  as  if,  like  Buck,  she 
had  been  deaf  on  one  side.  "  Who  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes.  To  Mr  Jeffries.  Since  early  in  March.  You 
remember  he  told  Archie  there  was  somebody  ? — and," 
Kitty  became  suddenly  voluble,  "  I  couldn't  believe  my 
ears  at  first.  I'd  never  dreamed — never  dreamed.  And 
after  I'd  been  such  a  beast — I  don't  mean  a  beast  exactly, 
but  getting  at  him,  you  know.  I  was  just  as  bad  as  the 
others — about  his  baths  and  all  that.  Oh,  I  did  feel 
ashamed — as  mean  as  mean — oh  !  "  She  choked  a  little. 
"I  don't  mind  saying  it  now,  but  I'd — I'd  begun  to  be 
afraid  I  should  never  get  off  !  " 

"  Yes — no,  I  mean,"  Louie  murmured,  dazed. 

"  Just  fancy,  it's  being  me  !  That  night,  when  he  asked 
me,  I  thought  I  should  have  gone  clean  off  it.  Sometimes 
I  can  hardly  believe  it  yet.  I  hadn't  a  notion — not  a 
notion  !  And  it  makes  everything  perfectly  wonderful, 
knowing  a  man's  so  struck  on  you,  though  he  is  quiet  and 
don't  say  much  about  it.  Of  course  they  mean  all  the 
more,  that  sort.  We  walk  along  the  streets,  but  he  won't 
let  me  stop  out  late  for  fear  of  tiring  me,  and  he  always 
takes  me  right  to  the  door,  and  I'm  trying  hard  not  to  be 
selfish,  but  it  makes  me  so  sorry  for  other  girls  who  haven't 
got  off — and  perhaps  if  I  sell  some  of  my  shares  to  start  us 
with  we  can  get  married  next  year — if  he  gets  a  per- 
manency, that  is." 

Louie  was  still  thunderstruck.    Mr  Jeffries  engaged  to — 


MORTLAKE   ROAD  179 

Kitty  Windus !  That  unnamed  personage  was — Kitty 
Windus !  She,  Louie,  was  asked  to  believe  that,  in  the 
face  of  all  she  had  seen ! 

"  I  am  glad,"  she  found  herself  murmuring  again. 

"  Did  you  guess  ?  "  Kitty  asked  eagerly.  She  would 
have  given  her  ears  to  be  told  that  somebody  else  had 
guessed. 

"  No,"  Louie  replied,  and  added,  seeing  Kitty's  fallen 
face  :  "  I  should  have  thought  Mr  Merridew.  You  seemed 
such  great  friends." 

At  that  Kitty  broke  in  :  "  Poor  Archie  !  I  said  it  made 
one  selfish.  .  .  .  His  father's  very  ill.  We  were  going  on 
Putney  Heath  to-day,  all  four  of  us,  Archie  and  Evie  and 
Jeff  and  me  ;  but  Archie  had  a  wire  to  go  home  this  morn- 
ing, poor  Archie,  and  so  I'm  going  to  meet  the  others  by- 
and-by.  But  anyway,  if  anything  does  happen,  he'll  be 
able  to  get  married  as  soon  as  he  likes — he's  an  only  son." 

At  this  Louie  was  even  more  startled.  Mr  Jeffries  and 
the  Soames  girl  together  at  that  moment !  She  remembered 
those  irrevocable  looks. 

"  So  Mr  Merridew  and  Miss  Soames  are  engaged,  then  ?  " 
she  said. 

"Well,"  Kitty  admitted,  "it  comes  to  the  same  thing. 
They're  as  good  as.  I  wish  Jeff  was  coming  into  a  bit, 
like  Archie." 

"  You  say  they're  here,  at  Putney,  this  afternoon  ?  " 

"  Jeff  and  Evie  ?    Yes.    I'm  meeting  them  at  five." 

Even  as  Louie  was  inwardly  predicting  that  Kitty  would 
not  see  her  Mr  Jeffries  at  five,  Miss  Dot  Mayville  entered. 
But  Louie  did  not  want  Kitty  to  go  just  yet.  She  wanted 
to  know  more  of  this  extraordinary  development  of  her 
drama.  "  May  we  have  some  tea  ?  "  she  asked,  and  Miss 
Dot  went  out  again.  Louie  lay  back  on  her  pillow  and 
frowned  at  the  foot  of  her  white-painted  bed. 


180  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

"  It's  very  kind  of  you  to  give  up  your  afternoon  to  me," 
she  said  by-and-by. 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  as  if  I  wouldn't  !j"  Kitty  broke  out  almost 
reproachfully.  "  I  keep  telling  myself  I  mustn't  be  selfish, 
when  Jeff  and  I  have  years  before  us — I'm  just  beginning 
to  realise  it — years — and,  oh  dear,  here  I  am,  selfish  again, 
talking  all  about  myself  and  never  a  word  about  you." 

But  Louie  did  not  want  words  about  herself.  She 
wanted  to  hear  all,  all,  about  Kitty  and  Mr  Jeffries.  The 
thing  became  more  incredible  moment  by  moment. 

"  I'm  sorry  about  Mr  Merridew's  father,"  she  said 
presently.  "  I  suppose  Miss  Soames  is  very  much  upset  ?  " 

"Frightfully,"  said  Kitty.  "But  Jeff's  looking  after 
her.  It  was  he  who  persuaded  her  to  go  out  this  afternoon. 
It's  better  for  her  than  moping  indoors." 

"  Perhaps  Mr  Merridew  asked  him  to." 

"Oh  no.    He  only  got  the  wire  this  morning.     But  it 

isn't  a  surprise.    Jeff  saw  him  last  night "    She  checked 

herself.     She  had  no  gibes  about  brown-paper  parcels  now. 

"  Well,  you'll  be  quite  a  courting  quartet,"  said  Louie 
presently,  with  a  brightness  she  did  not  feel. 

"  Yes ;  jolly,  isn't  it  ?  But  there,  I'm  simply  not  going 
to  talk  about  myself  one  moment  longer.  I  feel  a  regular 
beast.  But  it's  only  because  I'm  so  happy.  Now  let's 
talk  about  you.  How  long  are  you  going  to  be  here  ? 
What  sort  of  people  are  they  ?  Isn't  it  fearfully  expensive  ? 
Are  you  frightened  ?  " 

The  suppressed  inquisitive  questions  and  Louie's  pre- 
occupied parries  lasted  through  tea.  At  a  quarter  to  five 
Kitty  rose.  Again  Louie  found  herself  wondering  whether 
Kitty  would  see  her  Mr  Jeffries  that  day.  Kitty  bent  over 
her, 

"  I  should  like  to  kiss  you,  dear,  if  you'd  let  me,"  she 
said  timidly.  "  You  wouldn't  believe  what  a  difference 


MORTLAKE   ROAD  181 

it  makes.  And  I'd  love  to  come  again  ;  I  love  little  babies. 
Now  I  must  run.  I  won't  say  a  word  to  Miriam  Levey ; 
you  know  what  she  is — but  I  simply  must  learn  not  to  say 
those  things.  Good-bye,  dear." 

And  she  was  off,  waving  her  skimpy  hand  from  the  door. 

Louie  did  not  know  why  her  heart  should  ache  already, 
as  at  a  premonition — for  she  had  no  certitude.  Indeed, 
in  all  that  portion  of  her  relation  to  Mr  Jeffries  she  had  no 
certitude ;  but  she  was  only  a  little  less  certain  on  that 
account.  Already  she  entirely  rejected  the  figment  in 
which  Kitty  so  pathetically  believed.  Months  before 
she  had  snapped  her  fingers  at  his  impudent  tale  of  a 
shadowy  fiancee ;  now  she  wondered  whether  he  had  not 
been  caught  in  his  own  trap  and  found  himself  compelled, 
by  mere  daily  exigencies,  to  give  that  shadow  substance 
— the  substance  of  Kitty.  Impossible — and  yet  the  con- 
ceivable alternatives  were  equally  impossible  !  Incredible 
that  he  should  have  chosen  Kitty  for  his  stalking-horse — 
yet  whom  else  had  there  been  to  choose  ?  If  this  really 
was  a  putting-upon  the  Business  School,  Mr  Jeffries  would 
see  to  it  that  his  dupe  was  as  known  as  his  purpose  was 
secret.  That  left  him  three  candidates  from  whom  to 
choose  indifferently — Kitty,  Miriam  Levey,  and  herself. 

In  her  indignation  she  was  unconscious  of  the  pink  that 
crept  like  a  danger  signal  into  her  cheeks. 

That  poor,  unconscious,  betrayed  woman  ! 

Good  gracious !  It  was  blackguardly  and  monstrous  ! 
Kitty  of  all  women !  To  have  "  predestined  spinster  " 
written  large  all  over  you  was  bad  enough,  without  being 
played  upon  thus  and  then  cast  back  into  spinsterhood  after 
all !  And  this  new  softness  of  Kitty's,  this  timid  opening 
of  the  heart,  this  new,  awkward  unselfishness,  these 
pathetic  little  maxims  of  conduct !  The  man  must  be 
a  cur.  Deliberately  to  waken  a  heart  that  was  sealed, 


182  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

asleep  and  not  unhappy,  and  then  to  leave  it  to  a  pain  it 
must  keep  for  ever — good  gracious  ! 

Still  ignorant  of  the  tell-tale  red  in  her  own  cheeks,  she 
found  Mr  Jeffries  vile. 

But  she  must  be  just  to  Mr  Jeffries.  Perhaps  she  was 
wrong.  Perhaps  there  was — nay,  there  must  be — some- 
thing she  didn't  know.  Why,  even  if  Mr  Jeffries  could  be 
so  cruel,  Kitty  herself  could  hardly  be  so  blind.  Struggle 
with  new  magnanimities  as  she  would,  jealousy  was  native 
to  Kitty,  and  jealousy  has  sharp  eyes.  No,  she,  Louie 
herself,  was  building  a  fantastic  fabric.  It  was  mere 
common-sense  that  Kitty  must  be  supposed  to  be  capable 
of  looking  after  herself. 

But  it  was  one  thing  to  tell  herself  that  she  must  suspend 
her  judgment  and  another  to  do  it.  That  theory  of  hers 
seemed  to  unroll  itself  brightly  and  convincingly  before 
her  again.  She  would  discard  it  when  she  found  one  that 
better  explained  the  known  facts.  Mr  Jeffries  was  with 
Evie  Soames  at  that  moment.  Louie's  thoughts  flew  to 
Evie  Soames. 

It  was  then  that  she  became  conscious  that  her  cheeks 
were  hot.  It  was  then  also  that  she  told  herself  angrily 
that  they  were  not,  and  found  them  grow  hotter  still. 
The  hotter  they  grew  the  more  she  denied  their  heat. 
Why  should  they  grow  hot  ?  And  even  granting  that  they 
were  hot,  wasn't  this  imposture  that  was  being  practised 
on  Kitty  enough  to  make  anybody's  cheek  hot  ?  That 
was  it.  That  discovery  made,  she  admitted  the  heat — 
for  Kitty's  sake.  That  that  great,  taciturn,  clever  man 
should  be  infatuated  by  that  pretty  fool  she  resented — for 
Kitty's  sake.  That  his  sleek  head,  bright  as  the  coat  of 
Buck's  horse,  should  stoop  over  that  empty  dark  one  she 
found  ironically  unfit — for  Kitty's  sake.  She  told  herself 
all  this,  forgetting  that  she  had  just  set  Kitty's  engagement 


MORTLAKE   ROAD  183 

down  also  as  an  absurdity.  Her  indignation  would  have 
been  neither  more  nor  less  honest  had  Mr  Jeffries  engaged 
himself  (as  according  to  her  theory  he  might  quite  well  have 
done)  to  Miriam  Levey. 

Or  to  herself. 

She  lay,  the  colour  coming  and  going. 

At  last  she  roused  herself  and  sat  up.  "  Pretty  thoughts 
for  an  expectant  mother  !  "  she  muttered.  "  I'll  go  down- 
stairs and  talk  to  Dot." 

She  dressed,  and  descended  to  the  nurses'  sitting-room 
in  the  basement. 

Miss  Dot  and  her  Registrar  were  there ;  they  had  just 
come  in  from  a  walk.  They  were  telling  of  a  nightingale 
they  had  heard  sing  near  Queens  Mere.  "  Oh,  and  we  saw 
your  friend  again,  the  one  who  came  to  tea,"  said  Miss  Dot, 
turning  to  Louie. 

Louie  pricked  up  her  ears.  "  Oh  ?  Alone  ?  "  she  said 
quickly. 

"  Yes.    Coming  down  Putney  Hill." 

"  Yes,  she  said  she  was  going  to  take  a  walk,"  Louie 
remarked. 

But  to  herself  she  cried  with  conviction :  "  I  knew  it — I 
knew  it — I  knew  it !  " 

For  the  rest  of  the  evening  she  was  lost  in  her  own 
thoughts.  Miss  Cora  Mayville  worked  a  hand  sewing 
machine  ;  Miss  Dot  and  her  Registrar  played  bezique  at  a 
separate  table ;  other  nurses,  in  print  aprons  or  cloaked 
and  bonneted,  came  and  went ;  but  Louie  sat  and  gazed 
into  the  fire.  When  spoken  to  she  smiled  mechanically 
and  then  resumed  her  gazing.  There  was  no  more  con- 
tinuity in  her  thoughts  than  there  was  in  the  shape  of  the 
flames  that  illumined  her  grey  eyes.  Roy  appeared  in 
them  for  a  moment  or  two — she  had  seen  Roy's  name  in  The 
Gazette  a  week  before — and  then  Roy  was  supplanted  by 


184  THE    STORY    OF    LOUIE 

Burnett  Minor.  Her  old  French  governess  at  Trant  popped 
up  for  no  particular  reason,  and  then  she  too  gave  place  to 
Mr  Mackie.  She  heard  Buck  saying  again,  "  That  little 
girl " — and  then  came  a  wrangle  between  Dot  and  her 
Registrar.  In  the  adjoining  kitchen  she  heard  sounds  of 
frying,  and  then  somebody  came  in  to  lay  the  table  for 
supper.  The  gas  rose  and  whistled  as  the  stove  in  the 
next  room  was  turned  off.  The  three  night  nurses  came 
down.  Louie  had  her  gruel  where  she  sat,  and  at  half -past 
nine  went  upstairs  again.  She  got  into  bed,  and  dreamed 
that  night  that  she  was  dancing  with  Mr  Jeffries  again  at 
the  breaking-up  party.  Her  hand  lay  like  a  willow  leaf 
in  his.  "  You  understand,"  he  was  saying  to  her  ;  "  it's 
no  good  hiding  things  from  you  ;  you've  got  the  key  of  it  all. 
It  had  to  be  somebody,  and  you'd  left.  There  was  only 
Kitty  for  it.  You  see  what  an  ignominious  thing  you  escape. 
Don't  tell  me  how  degrading  it  is  ;  I  know  it ;  but  I'd  do  it 
a  thousand  times  for  the  woman  I  loved  and  meant  to 
marry." 

Louie  knew,  in  her  dream,  who  that  was. 

Then  she  awoke  with  a  start.  The  street  lamp  outside, 
shining  through  the  Venetian  blinds,  made  long  bars  of 
light  on  the  walls  and  ceiling.  The  hot-water  bottle  at 
her  feet  was  cold.  She  heard  the  creaking  of  Dot's  bed  in 
the  little  dressing-room  adjoining,  and  the  minute  ticking 
of  her  watch  on  the  table  by  her  bed-head.  But  what  had 
woke  her  had  been  the  sound  of  her  own  reply,  in  her 
dream,  to  Mr  Jeffries. 

"  You'll  shuffle  Kitty  off,"  she  had  replied,  still  dancing 
with  him,  "  but  7  should  have  found  a  way  to  keep  you." 

Then,  with  a  deep  sigh,  she  turned  and  went  to  sleep 
again. 


MORTLAKE   ROAD  185 

III 

HER  boy  was  born  towards  the  end  of  June.  Her  mother 
did  not  visit  her  ;  instead,  she  sent  a  letter  the  chief  char- 
acteristic of  which  was  fright  that  she  had  dared  even  so 
far  to  disobey  her  brother.  Louie  understood,  and  in  her 
dictated  reply  made  allowances.  She  wondered  whether 
she  should  write  to  Eoy  also,  but  in  the  end  did  not.  The 
child  was  born  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning ;  he  was 
hardly  six  hours  old  when  Buck  arrived.  The  old  champion 
stood  looking  down  on  his  little  girl's  little  boy.  It  was 
long  before  he  spoke. 

"  I  wasn't  let  see  you,"  he  said,  two  big  tears  rolling 
down  his  cheeks. 

"  You  shall  teach  him  to  box,  daddy,"  said  Louie, 
smiling  up  at  him. 

But  Buck  shook  his  head.  "  No,  no,"  he  said  gently — 
"  except  just  to  take  care  of  himself — when  he's  fourteen, 
perhaps — if  I'm  here.  Swimming,  not  sparring.  They're  a 
queer  lot,  them  in  the  ring." 

"  You  must  go  now,  Mr  Causton,"  said  Miss  Dot. 

The  boy  was  thirty  hours  old  when  there  arrived  for  him 
a  great  case  of  toys  suitable  for  a  child  of  four.  Buck  and 
Chaff  had  been  round  the  toyshops  together.  Mrs  Buck, 
disobeying  her  husband  for  the  only  time  in  her  life,  came 
by  stealth  with  a  flannel  binder  that  might  have  enwrapped 
a  six-pounds'  child  ;  Jim  (as  Louie  had  decided  to  call  him), 
weighed  ten  pounds,  beef  to  the  heel. 

He  throve  at  once,  and  continued  to  thrive. 

The  pair  of  them  were  the  pride  of  that  pagan  Putney 
Nursing  Home. 

The  first  of  the  two  incidents  that  may  be  allowed  to 
close  this  portion  of  Louie's  story  was  a  second  visit  by 
Kitty  Windus  to  Louie. 


186  THE    STORY    OF    LOUIE 

She  came  at  ten  o'clock  at  night,  and  only  with  difficulty 
obtained  admission.  She  was  allowed  ten  minutes,  on 
the  condition  that  Louie  was  awake.  Louie  was  awake. 
Kitty  neither  lifted  her  veil  nor  asked  to  see  the  child. 
There  was  no  trace  now  of  her  little  maxims  of  conduct ; 
she  spoke  agitatedly,  and  out  of  a  stinging,  jealous  pain. 

"  I've  come  to  ask  you  something,  Miss  Causton,  and 
you've  got  to  tell  me,"  she  announced,  without  preface. 
"  I've  a  right  to  know." 

"  Speak  a  little  lower,"  said  Louie,  glancing  at  the  babe. 
"  Sit  down  and  tell  me  what  it  is." 

But  Kitty  would  not  sit.  Incapable  of  grandeurs  of 
style,  she  nevertheless  attempted  them. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  you  happen  to  be  aware  what 
people  are  saying  about  you,"  she  said.  Her  boat-shaped 
hat  and  Inverness  cape  gave  her  a  little  the  appearance  of 
a  scanty  tree  with  which  some  topiary  artist  had  done  his 
best. 

Louie  could  not  help  smiling  a  little ;  she  could  have  that 
kind  of  thing  out  with  herself  without  calling  in  Kitty. 

"  My  dear  !  Of  course  I  know  they  might  be  saying 
anything  !  "  She  drew  her  child  a  little  closer  to  her. 

"  Suppose  we  keep  the  my  dears  till  we've  finished  talk- 
ing," said  Kitty  coldly.  "  I  mean  what  they're  saying  at 
the  Business  School." 

Louie  spoke  quietly.  "  I  suppose  you  mean  about  me 
and  my  boy  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do  mean  that,  and  I've  come  to  ask  you  to  your 
face  ;  Tm  not  the  one  to  beat  about  the  bush  !  I  want  to 

know  who "  There  was  no  need  for  Kitty  to  complete 

the  sentence. 

"  You  won't  know  that,"  said  Louie,  more  quietly  still. 

"  Ah  !  perhaps  you  won't  tell  me  because  you  daren't  ?  " 

"  I've  not  told  anybody,  and  I'm  not  going  to  tell  you. 


MORTLAKE    ROAD  187 

I'd  die  first.  Perhaps  before  we  go  any  further  you'll  tell 
me  why  you  want  to  know  ?  " 

"  You  don't  suppose  I'd  ask  you  if  it  wasn't  my  business, 
do  you  ?  " 

Slowly  Louie  turned  her  eyes  on  her.  She  spoke  slowly 
too.  "  We  should  get  on  more  quickly  if  you  didn't  jump 
so  to  conclusions,"  she  said.  "I  don't  know  what  your 
conclusions  are,  but  you  seem  to  have  made  your  mind  up 
about  something.  If  you'll  change  your  tone  I'll  talk  to 
you  ;  if  you  won't,  I  won't." 

At  that  Kitty  began  to  sob.  She  had  to  lift  her  veil  in 
order  to  put  a  wisp  of  wet  handkerchief  to  her  eyes.  But 
she  changed  her  tone. 

"  I  only  want  to  know,"  she  said.  "  And  I  don't  want 
to  know  if  it  isn't  my  business.  But  I  have  seen  him  look 
at  you,  and  he  did  dance  with  you,  and  when  they  said " 

"  Who  said  ?  "  Louie  interrupted  ;  but  she  had  already 
made  a  guess.  "  And  said  what  ?  " 

"Jeff,  of  course,"  Kitty  replied.  "Miriam  Levey 
noticed  him  looking  at  you  first,  but  after  that  I  saw  for 
myself.  And  you  did  dance  with  him.  I  might  forgive 
him,  but  I'd  never,  never  forgive  you." 

Louie  suddenly  put  a  question.  Apparently  it  was  for 
nothing  less  "preposterous  than  that  question  that  Kitty 
was  here. 

"  One  moment,"  she  said.  "  Do  you  mean  there's  some- 
thing about  Mr  Jeffries  and  myself  you  want  to  know  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  and  I  mean  to  know,"  Kitty  snapped. 

"  And  that's  all  ?  " 

"  Enough,  I  should  say  !  " 

"  Please  hear  me^  out.  In  fact " — Louie  paused  for  a 
moment  and  then  rapped  out  sharply — "  you  want  to  know 
whether  my  lover  was  Mr  Jeffries  ?  " 

"  That'll  do  to  be  going  on  with,"  said  Kitty  sullenly. 


188  THE    STORY    OF   LOUIE 

"  Then  I'll  tell  you  if  you'll  tell  me  who  said  he  was." 

"  I  don't  see  what  that's  got  to  do  with  it,  but  I'll  tell  you 
if  you  like.  Archie  Merridew  said  so.  There  !  " 

Archie  Merridew !  —  But  Louie  restrained  her  gasp. 
"  Thank  you,"  she  said.  "  May  I  ask  whether  you've  asked 
Mr  Jeffries  ?  He  might  be  in  a  position  to  know,  you  know." 

"  No,  I  haven't." 

"  But  evidently  you've  seen  something  in  his  manner  that 
would  make  it  not  quite  impossible  ?  " 

"  I  tell  you,  you've  danced  with  him,  and  he's  looked  at 
you  in  a  sort  of  way — more  than  once,  Miriam  says — and 
you're  trying  to  shuffle  out  of  the  question,"  said  Kitty,  her 
suspicions  aflame  again. 

"  Oh,  I'll  answer  the  question  !  If  it  had  been  he  " — 
she  glanced  at  the  little  head  under  her  breast — "  I'd  tell 
you  in  a  minute — for  my  baby's  sake,  you  see.  But  it  was 
not ;  and  you  might  have  saved  yourself  a  journey  if  you'd 
gone  to  him  first.  And  now  please  tell  me  a  little  more." 

Kitty  still  looked  at  her  suspiciously.  "  You  said  you'd 
die  sooner  than  tell,"  she  cried  quaveringly. 

"  You  mean  you  don't  believe  me  ?  Well,  I  can't  make 
you.  If  I  told  you  the  truth  you'd  just  think  I'd  made  up  a 
name." 

"  It  was  somebody  else  ?  "  cried  Kitty  eagerly. 

If  it  wasn't  Mr  Jeffries,  naturally  —  there  was  the 
child 

"  Oh,  I  want  to  believe  you  !  "  Kitty  suddenly  broke  out. 

Louie  laughed  desperately.  "  Well,  my  dear,  you  may. 
If  it  was  so,  I  suppose  you'd  get  it  out  of  me.  It  isn't,  that's 
all.  And  now  I  think  I've  a  right  to  know  exactly  what  this 
Mr  Merridew  has  been  saying." 

Kitty  looked  hard  at  her  for  one  moment  longer,  and  then 
sank  on  her  knees  by  the  side  of  the  bed.  She  had  no 
choice  but  to  believe.  She  broke  into  a  torrent  of  words, 


MORTLAKE   ROAD  189 

low-spoken,  not  to  rouse  the  child.    Louie  heard  them, 
amazed.     Slowly  her  incredulity  turned  into  contempt. 

The  horrid  little  beast !  But,  after  all,  she  was  not  sur- 
prised. It  was  all  in  his  character.  Perhaps  he  had  been 
drunk ;  perhaps  it  was  merely  a  fancy-stationery  idea  of 
humour.  Not  that  she  minded  a  straw  ;  she  laughed  ;  she 
supposed  she  was  there  to  have  stones  thrown  at  her  ;  it 
was  merely  a  little  annoying  that  they  were  not  thrown 
straighter.  She  could  picture  the  over-pocket -monied 
little  bounder,  measuring  all  pecks  out  of  his  own  bushel, 
leaning  up  against  a  bar  somewhere,  probably  too  fuddled 
to  distinguish  his  own  humorous  fancy  from  a  story  of  life 
with  names  given,  and  believing  it  himself  by  the  time  he  had 
repeated  it  once  or  twice. 

The  little  worm  ! 

"  But,"  she  said  presently,  disgustedly  smiling,  "  you 
remember  when  I  came  to  the  School,  and  that  I  asked  you 
who  Mr  Jeffries  was " 

"  Of  course  !  "  said  Kitty,  suddenly  entirely  believing. 
"  How  absurd  !  But  oh,  I  do  love  him  so." 

Louie  mused. 

"And  he — Mr  Jeffries — knows  nothing  about  this,  you 
say  ?  "  she  asked  presently. 

"No.  He  thinks  something's  wrong.  He's  been 
teaching  at  the  School,  you  know,  and  of  course  he  must 
have  wondered  what  was  the  matter  all  this  last  week." 

"  It's  a  week  since  Mr  Merridew — did  me  this  favour  ?  " 

"  Yes.     But  perhaps  Jeff  thought "    She  checked 

herself. 

"  What  ?  I  think  I  ought  to  know  what  Mr  Jeffries 
may  have  thought." 

Kitty  hesitated,  and  then,  with  a  little  burst,  told  her. 
It  was  curious.  It  appeared  that  Mr  Jeffries  had  been  very 
hard  up  indeed,  so  hard  up  that,  quite  recently,  he  had 


190  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

actually  had  to  take  a  position  as  a  commissionaire.  It  was 
known,  and  possibly  he  had  set  any  oddities  of  behaviour 
towards  himself  down  to  that. 

A  commissionaire  !    Louie  was  astounded. 

"  And  aren't  you  going  to  tell  him  ?  "  she  managed  to  get 
out. 

"  I  must,  the  very  next  time  I  see  him." 

"  You  mean  to-morrow  ?  " 

"I  don't  know.  You  see" — Kitty  hesitated  again — 
"  he's  left  the  School.  Practically  been  dismissed.  He's  got 
some  work  at  Bedford  now." 

"  Dismissed  on  account  of  this  ?  " 

"  I  expect  so." 

"  And  now,  of  course,  you've  got  to  tell  him  that  you 
believed  this  ?  " 

Kitty  dropped  her  head  on  the  bed.  She  gave  a  little 
moan.  "  I  don't  know  how  I  shall  ever  do  it !  "  she  groaned 
in  the  bedclothes. 

Louie  considered  herself  entitled  to  agree  that  it  wouldn't 


Presently  Kitty  rose.  She  crossed  to  Louie's  mirror  and 
adjusted  the  boat-shaped  hat.  Then  she  came  back  to  the 
bedside  again  and  craned  her  head  forward. 

"  May  I  see  the  baby  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Another  time,  I  think,"  said  Louie,  her  lips  compressed. 

Kitty  left. 

Louie's  mind  was  in  a  whirl.  At  her  request,  Kitty  had 
turned  out  the  gas  before  leaving,  and  only  a  nightlight 
glimmered  on  the  little  invalid's  table.  She  gazed  at  it. 
So  she  too  had  been  haled  into  the  drama  ! 

On  the  young  fancy  stationer  she  wasted  never  a  thought, 
either  of  indignation  or  of  anything  else ;  but  Kitty — Evie 
Soames — Mr  Jeffries — Roy — herself ! — What  a  nightmare — 
what  a  pantomime  !  What  an  incredible  genius  this  Mr 


MORTLAKE   ROAD  191 

Jeffries  seemed  to  have  for  getting  himself  into  complications 
and  dragging  other  people  after  him  !  It  might  well  have 
puzzled  anybody — anybody  who  had  not  the  key  of  the 
puzzle — to  know  which  among  them  all  he  really  had 
honoured  with  his  choice  !  Only  Miss  Levey  seemed  to  be 
immune.  Surely,  for  the  sake  of  completeness,  he  could 
have  found  a  way  of  dragging  her  in  too  ! 

Louie  had  to  hold  her  key  exceedingly  firmly  in  order  to 
retain  even  that  lunatic  theory  that  seemed  to  be  the 
truth. 

By  dint  of  holding  fast,  however,  the  theory  still  stood  the 
strain.  Evie  Soanies  and  Mr  Jeffries  were  still  the  central 
figures  of  the  piece.  Kitty  was  still  the  stalking-horse  behind 
which,  for  whatever  reasons,  he  machinated.  She  herself 
was  still  merely  dragged  in  at  the  whim  of  a  vicious  little 
scoundrel  over  whose  tongue  whisky  and  calumnies  ran 
indifferently,  and  this  little  beast  was  still  engaged,  or  all 
but  engaged,  to  Evie  Soames.  Yes,  the  triangle  re-estab- 
lished itself.  Kitty  and  herself  were  no  more  than  imported 
complications.  The  big  man  and  the  red-waistcoated  youth 
were  still  the  protagonists,  and  they  faced  one  another  over 
the  stupid  little  head  of  Evie  Soames. 

And  yet  Louie,  lying  with  her  boy  at  her  breast  and  blink- 
ing at  the  nightlight,  refused  to  class  herself  with  the  super- 
fluous Kitty.  She  did  not  see  herself  in  a  "  walking  on  " 
part.  Though  she  made  her  entry  late,  something  told  her 
that  she  would  have  a  word  to  say — or  else  it  was  a  botched 
and  mangled  piece  indeed.  Of  life  itself  as  a  botched  and 
mangled  piece  she  had  no  conception  ;  though  she  kept  her 
thoughts  of  Him  locked  within  her  own  breast,  it  was  still 
the  bed  of  them  that  there  was  an  Artist  over  all.  But  for 
a  false  start  she  would  have  been  on  the  stage  now,  and  she 
would  have  given  a  voice  to  that  pitiful  part  of  poor  Kitty's. 
Say  she  had  not  left  that  Holborn  School  when  she  did — she 


192  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

remembered  that  breaking-up  dance — had  one  more  oppor- 
tunity like  that  been  given  to  her 

Then  in  the  darkness  she  coloured  violently.  She  had 
realised  her  own  thoughts.  This  was  as  much  as  to  say  that 
she  would  have  accepted  Kitty's  role — would  have  consented 
to  be  an  understudy — would,  like  other  understudies,  have 
ousted  the  principal  in  time — would  have  topped  the  bill 
with  a  man  the  latest  of  whose  mysterious  activities  was 
that  he  had  been  a  commissionaire 

She  loved,  or  was  on  the  point  of  loving,  Mr  Jeffries 

"  Nonsense  !  "  she  ridiculed  herself. 

But  nonsense  or  not,  it  was  stronger  than  all  her  efforts  to 
think  about  something  else.  Perhaps  it  was  her  own  false 
start  that  set  her  wondering,  and  ever  returning  to  her 
wonder,  whether  he  had  not  made  one  too.  He  seemed  to 
have  set  up  the  figure  of  Evie  Soames  in  his  own  imagination, 
and  probably  had  not  looked  at  Evie  Soames  as  she  actually 
was  since.  He  seemed  to  have  his  full  share  of  that  mas- 
culine vanity  which  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  com- 
promise by  which  the  world  j  ogs  on ;  his  rapt,  lion's  eyes  might 
see  visions  afar  off,  and  he  would  not  as  much  as  know  that 
his  shins  were  black  and  raw  with  the  bruises  of  the  hard 
facts  among  which  he  stumbled.  Little  as  Louie  knew  of 
him,  she  thought  she  knew  that.  Lucky  Evie  Soames,  who 
might  be  as  stupid  as  the  mud  beneath  her  feet,  yet  in  one 
man's  blind,  far-seeing  eyes  could  do  no  wrong  ! 

But  of  course  it  was  nonsense  that  Louie  should  have  to 
recognise  Evie  Soames  for  her  rival. 

Yet,  on  one  other  point,  as  she  lay  with  the  babe  at  her 
breast  and  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  little  flame  of  the  nightlight, 
she  was  already  prepared  to  make  a  wager  with  herself. 
Her  theory  was  still  only  a  theory  ;  she  could  not  prove  it ; 
but  it  could  prove  itself.  It  would  work  out  or  it  would  not 
work  out ;  if  it  worked  out — well,  Louie  was  a  woman,  and 


MORTLAKE   ROAD  193 

no  woman  hesitates  for  a  single  moment  to  put  on  the  mantle 
of  the  prophet.  Indeed,  she  had  prophesied  long  before. 
"  Circumstances  are  strong,"  this  Mr  Jeffries  who  had  since 
been  a  commissionaire  had  admitted  when  she  had  danced 
with  him,  "  but  is  anybody  ever  beaten  unless  they  deserve 
to  be  ?  "  And  he  had  taken  his  failure  in  the  examination 
as  a  sign  that  he  ought  not  to  have  gone  in  for  it,  and  had 
refused  to  enter  again.  Yes,  the  earthenware  vessel  was 
on  the  point  of  collision  with  the  one  of  bronze,  and  which 
would  break  the  months  or  the  weeks  or  the  days  would 
show.  Kitty  must  not  think  that  it  availed  a  predestined 
spinster  anything  that  she  got  engaged  ;  Mr  Jeffries  would 
never  marry  Kitty. 

And  if  Louie  herself  had  returned  to  the  Business  School 
after  Christmas 

Her  dream  of  how  she  had  danced  with  him,  and  he  had 
said  "  You  understand,"  and  she  had  replied,  "  /  should  have 
found  a  way  to  keep  you,"  returned  vividly  to  her 

She  would  have  found  a  way. 

Then  she  remembered  that  which  even  then  had  stood 
between. 

Excitedly  she  clutched  her  boy  to  her — he  woke  with  the 
pressure,  and  gave  a  little  croaking  cry. 

This,  then,  was  the  first  of  the  two  things  that  remained 
to  be  told  about  this  part  of  Louie's  story. 

For  the  second  of  them  she  had  neither  years  nor  months 
to  wait,  but  a  bare  fortnight.  A  very  few  words  will  tell  it. 

One  evening  after  the  boy  had  been  put  to  bed  she  went 
down  into  the  nurses'  parlour  and  helped  Dot  and  Nurse 
Chalmers  to  overhaul  the  blouses  in  which  the  doctors 
operated.  Besides  themselves,  only  Miss  Cora  was  present ; 
she  was  reading  an  evening  paper.  Louie  saw  her  purse 
her  lips  and  then  throw  the  paper  away.  Presently  Louie, 
tossing  a  patched  blouse  aside,  reached  for  the  paper. 


194  THE    STORY    OF    LOUIE 

A  few  minutes  later  Miss  Cora,  with  a  "  Why,  what's  the 
matter  ?  "  started  forward  and  bent  over  her.  Louie  had 
gone  deathly  white. 

"  It's  nothing — I  shall  be  all  right  presently,"  she 
muttered,  her  eyes  closed. 

Miss  Gora  took  the  paper.  The  page  at  which  she  herself 
had  last  looked  was  still  uppermost.  It  contained  an  account 
of  a  suicide. 

"  What  is  it,  dear  ?  "  Miss  Cora  asked  again.  "  Not  that  ?  " 
She  pointed  to  the  paragraph.  Indeed,  there  was  little  else 
of  interest  on  the  page. 

"  I  shall  be  all  right  in  a  minute,"  Louie  murmured 
again. 

There  was  nothing  remarkable  about  the  suicide.  A  young 
man  had  hanged  himself  behind  his  bedroom  door,  and  a 
verdict  in  accordance  with  the  evidence  (which,  it  was  sug- 
gested, was  largely  medical)  had  been  returned.  He  had 
left  a  letter  for  his  mother,  precisely  like  almost  every  other 
such  letter,  and  parts  of  it  were  quoted.  The  young  man's 
name  was  Archie  Merridew.  He  was  to  have  been  married 
on  the  morrow. 

"  Is  that  it  ?  "  Miss  Cora  asked  again. 

Louie  nodded. 

"  Did  you  know  him  ?  " 

Louie  made  no  reply. 

They  are  experienced  women  at  nursing  homes  ;  especi- 
ally about  suppressed  medical  evidence  they  are  able  to 
draw  conclusions.  The  next  morning  a  few  rapid  guarded 
words  passed  between  Louie  and  Miss  Cora.  The  effect  of 
them  was  to  give  Louie  a  sudden  feeling  of  nausea.  Miss 
Cora's  whispered  explanation  seemed  only  too  probable. 
That  also  was  all  in  his  character. 

"  That's  it,  you  may  be  sure,"  said  Miss  Cora.  "  They 
ought  to  be  lethal-chambered,  nasty  little  sewer-rats  ;  one 


MORTLAKE   ROAD  195 

of  'em's  saved  them  the  trouble  at  any  rate.  Did  you  know 
the  girl  he  was  going  to  marry  too  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Louie. 

"  Well,  she's  had  an  escape.  But  don't  think  about  it. 
You  have  your  own  little  boy.  Gome  into  the  garden  till 
your  father  comes  and  then  have  a  nice  long  drive.  Shall 
we  wrap  Jimmy  up  and  let  him  go  with  you  ?  " 

That,  then,  was  the  second  thing  ;  but  already  Louie  had 
heard  a  prophetical  whisper  in  her  soul. 


PART  FOUR 
PILLAR  TO  POST 


WHEN,  in  the  October  of  1896,  Louie  Causton  left  Mortlake 
Road,  with  half  the  nurses  of  the  home  waving  their  hand- 
kerchiefs after  her,  she  went  to  a  house  near  the  Parson's 
Green  end  of  Wandsworth  Bridge  Road.  As  she  left  that 
house  before  Christmas,  going  to  another  one  near  the  Wai- 
ham  Green  Town  Hall,  there  is  no  need  to  describe  it. 
Neither  need  the  Walham  Green  house  be  described,  since 
from  there  she  went,  in  February  1897,  to  yet  another  house, 
in  a  street  oil  the  Bishops  Road,  Fulham.  These  and  other 
removals  did  not  necessitate  the  use  of  a  pantechnicon ;  a 
four-wheeler  sufficed  on  each  occasion.  Louie,  the  boy  and 
the  nurse  went  inside  ;  the  top  was  quite  big  enough  for  her 
belongings.  She  stuck  to  the  south-western  district ;  at 
no  time  did  she  move  farther  east  than  when  she  took  two 
rooms  in  Gheyne  Walk,  over  a  bicycle  shop  near  the  Chelsea 
suspension  bridge — which  rooms,  by  the  way,  she  was  forced 
to  leave  at  an  hour's  notice,  her  landlord,  a  man  of  straw, 
being  himself  ejected  and  involving  his  sub-tenant  in  his  own 
catastrophe.  She  kept  to  this  district  because  of  its  near- 
ness to  Kingston  and  the  Molyneux  Arms.  By  the  time 
the  boy  was  nine  months  old  she  was  living  in  Tadema  Road, 
not  far  from  where  the  Chelsea  power-station  now  stands. 

The  nurse  whom  she  had  engaged  was  a  link — save  for 
Chafi  the  only  one — with  Trant.  She  was,  indeed,  her  own 
old  French  governess,  once  Celeste  Martin,  now  Celeste 
Farmer  and  a  widow.  She  was  a  Provengale,  from  Aries. 
On  the  death  of  her  husband,  which  had  taken  place  while 
Louie  had  been  still  at  the  home  in  Mortlake  Road,  she  had 
199 


200  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

sought  out  Chaff  with  a  sheaf  of  testimonials,  and  by-and-by 
Louie  had  engaged  her.  She  paid  her  ten  shillings  a  week, 
on  the  distinct  understanding  that  she  must  not  hesitate  to 
accept  the  first  decent  post  that  offered.  It  was  already 
plain  that,  even  if  Celeste  could  have  brought  herself  to 
leave  the  little  girl  to  whom  she  had  taught  the  order  of  the 
personal  pronouns  in  French,  her  affection  for  Master  Jim 
would  have  haled  her  back  again. 

Louie  changed  her  abode  so  frequently  for  one  reason  and 
another.  In  perhaps  a  third  of  the  cases  the  landladies  to 
whom  she  offered  herself  as  a  lodger  found  reasons  for  asking 
her  to  leave  when  they  saw  that  her  letters  were  addressed 
to  "  Miss  Causton."  Then,  to  save  cab  fares,  Louie  began 
to  make  her  position  plain  at  the  outset.  Sometimes  this 
made  a  difference,  sometimes  none.  On  the  whole,  London 
S.W.  showed  itself  charitable  or  merely  indifferent.  By 
May  1897  she  was  at  another  house  in  Wandsworth  Bridge 
Road. 

She  had  not  refused  to  accept,  easily  and  as  a  loan,  a  sum 
of  money  from  Buck ;  but  thrice  she  had  well-nigh  quar- 
relled with  Buck  because  she  would  accept  it  only  as  a 
loan.  Twice,  for  the  same  reason,  she  had  had  tussles  with 
Chaff.  But  money,  until  she  should  find  something  settled 
to  do,  she  must  have.  No  doubt  Richenda  Earle  would 
have  shaken  her  head  and  have  pointed  out  that  now  Louie 
not  only  had  the  Scarisbricks  behind  her,  but  a  prosperous 
publican  also  ;  but  Louie,  though  she  lived  as  frugally  as 
if  she  had  to  earn  every  penny,  did  not  see  why  her  boy 
should  go  short  while  there  was  money  to  be  had.  She 
took  the  sensible  view  of  the  matter,  and  borrowed,  while 
walking  her  shoes  out  and  answering  advertisements  for 
this,  that  and  the  other. 

Up  to  the  summer  of  '97  her  occupations  had  been 
almost  as  various  as  her  addresses.  She  very  soon  dis- 


PILLAR   TO   POST  201 

covered  that  her  Holborn  training  was  of  little  use  to  her, 
and  she  could  not  (as  also  she  discovered)  play  the  piano 
well  enough  to  give  lessons.  What  she  dreamed  of,  of 
course,  was  a  comfortable  private  secretaryship  ;  no  young 
woman  is  so  ill-trained  or  so  incompetent  but  she  fancies 
herself  good  enough  for  a  private  secretaryship.  Perhaps 
Uncle  Augustus  might  have  helped  her  to  one,  but  she 
would  have  nothing  to  do  with  Uncle  Augustus  ;  and  Chaff 
was  unable  to  beat  up  anything  of  the  kind.  Buck's 
proposal,  that  she  should  keep  his  books,  had  been  the  cause 
of  their  second  altercation.  Common-sense  in  the  matter  of 
borrowing  she  was  prepared  to  be  ;  beyond  that  point  she 
remembered  her  pride  and  Richenda's  words.  So  for  the 
present  she  was  spared  the  worst  of  the  pinch. 

So,  in  the  early  part  of  that  year,  she  was  in  an  A.B.C. 
cash-desk,  traveller  for  a  History,  and  saleswoman  at  an 
Earls  Court  chocolate-stall.  Then,  in  June,  she  obtained, 
actually  in  the  face  of  considerable  competition,  a  place  in 
the  showrooms  of  a  Bond  Street  photographer.  Perhaps 
her  dresses,  of  which  several  still  remained,  helped  her  to 
this  place.  She  wrote  letters,  arranged  appointments, 
answered  press  and  other  calls  on  the  telephone,  and 
received  sitters.  No  doubt  some  of  these  knew  Uncle 
Augustus.  Eobson,  of  the  Board  of  Trade  (who  came  one 
day),  would  probably  know  him  ;  so  would  George  Hastie, 
Robson's  friend  and  colleague,  and  perhaps  Sir  Peregrine 
Campbell  and  others.  Some  of  them,  the  more  sporting 
sort,  might  even  know  Buck  too,  for  Buck  was  still  a 
tradition ;  in  short,  Louie's  own  position  amused  her 
immensely.  By  taking  her  letters  home  with  her  and 
leaving  a  younger  assistant  in  charge,  she  was  frequently 
able  to  leave  the  showrooms  by  half -past  four  and  to  spend 
the  evenings  with  Celeste  and  her  boy.  Incidentally,  Louie 
improved  her  French  a  good  deal,  for  Celeste  crooned  over 


202  THE    STORY    OF    LOUIE 

the  boy  in  French  and  English  indifferently.  ..."  The  dar- 
leeng — the  lo-ove — the  precieux — oh,  oh,  oh,  mais  il  existe 

— il  manifeste,  le  petiot "  ;  and  she  would  break  off  to 

sing,  in  a  cracked  voice,  "  Le  Pont  d' Avignon,"  or  some 
lullaby  of  Frederic  Mistral.  She  idolised  the  infant ;  when 
he  was  put  to  bed  she  did  not  delay  long  to  follow  him,  for 
Louie,  who  had  her  work  to  do  during  the  day,  must  not  be 
roused  at  night ;  and  so  Louie  frequently  sat  alone,  writing 
her  letters  or  wrapped  in  her  own  musings.  She  received 
thirty-five  shillings  a  week.  Her  job  had  the  appearance 
of  a  "  permanency."  In  July  she  got  a  "  rise  "  of  three 
shillings  a  week.  She  also  got  ten  days'  holiday,  the  greater 
part  of  which  she  spent  in  the  company  of  her  father.  She 
was  beginning  to  know  what  holidays  meant  now. 

On  one  of  those  days  she  had  an  unexpected  little  meeting 
in  Richmond  Park.  Celeste  and  the  boy  had  gone  on  by 
train,  and  she  was  walking.  The  meeting  was  with  a  girl 
called  Myrtle  Morris,  who,  when  Louie  had  kept  the  con- 
fectionery stall  at  Earls  Court,  had  sold  cigarettes  at  the 
stall  adjoining.  Miss  Morris  was  accompanied  by  a  tall 
young  man ;  she  stopped  to  greet  Louie,  and  the  young 
man  walked  slowly  on.  Myrtle  asked  Louie  what  she  was 
doing  now.  Louie  told  her.  "  And  you  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Oh,  I've  gone  back  to  my  old  trade,"  the  girl  said, 
nodding  towards  her  retreating  companion.  "  Artists' 
model.  That's  my  present  employer — Izzard." 

"  Who  ?  "  said  Louie.    The  name  seemed  familiar. 

"  Billy  Izzard.    Know  him  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Louie.  But  she  remembered  now  where  she 
had  heard  the  name. 

"  Jolly  clever  painter,"  said  the  model  authoritatively. 
"  Nice  fellow  too.  Shall  I  call  him  ?  " 

"  Thanks,  but  I  must  be  getting  on,"  said  Louie.  "  Good- 
bye." 


PILLAR   TO   POST  203 

"  So  long.  Come  and  look  me  up  some  time,  won't  you  ? 
25  Edith  Grove." 

"  Thank  you.     Good-bye." 

So  that  was  Roy's  friend  !  They  had  not  gone  down 
with  the  yacht  that  had  lain  under  the  hill  at  Rainham 
Parva.  But  she  had  only  seen  Mr  Izzard's  back.  For  a 
moment,  but  only  for  a  moment,  she  thought  of  Roy  ;  then 
the  sum-total  of  a  long  sequence  of  reveries  returned  to  her 
again. 

Or  rather,  the  factors  that  made  that  total  returned.  In 
spite  of  her  broodings  late  at  night,  when  her  letters  were 
written  and  Jimmy's  food  prepared  for  the  night,  she  was 
still  unable  to  cast  them  up.  Had  she  been  asked  to  state 
her  relation  now  to  Mr  Jeffries  her  attempt  would  have  been 
something  like  this  : 

"  It's  perfectly  absurd,  of  course.  There  is  no  relation — 
nothing  that  can  properly  be  called  a  relation.  How  can 
there  be,  with  a  man  I  don't  see — haven't  seen  since  that 
queer  party  ?  I  don't  even  know  where  he  is  or  what  he's 
doing  ;  he  may  be  a  commissionaire  again  for  all  I  know." 

"  Yes,  but,"  she  now  answered  herself,  as  if  it  had  been 
some  form  of  a  dialogue,  "  don't  forget  that  other  night,  at 
Mortlake  Road,  after  Kitty'd  gone." 

She  did  not  forget  that  night.  She  had  told  herself  that 
night  that  it  was  nonsense  that  she  should  love  Mr  Jeffries. 
Again  she  answered  that  critical  objector  within  herself. 

"  But  it  is  nonsense  after  all !  How  can  I  ?  I  suppose 
I  mean  that  if  things  had  been  different  I  might  have  loved 
him.  Moping  about  a  man  you  never  see  is  all  very  well 
for  a  schoolgirl  for  a  week  or  two,  but  not  for  grown  women, 
and  mothers  at  that." 

"  Then  you  mean  he's  just  the  same  to  you  as  Buck  and 
Chaff  ?  "  the  dialogue  continued,  as  she  walked. 

"  All  I  mean  is  that  he  might  have  been  more." 


204  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

"  Well,  suppose  you  were  to  hear  now  that  he'd  broken  off 
with  Kitty,  and — you  know — that  other  were  to  happen  ? " 

She  did  know  what  she  meant  by  "  that  other."  It  was 
the  most  familiar  of  her  thoughts.  It  was  what  in  her  heart 
she  was  stilly  waiting  for — to  learn  one  day  that  Mr  Jeffries 
had  broken  off  with  Kitty  and  had  became  engaged  to  Evie 
Soames.  And  at  that  point  she  always  tried  to  stop  the 
dialogue.  Beyond  that  point  lay  something  that  she 
vaguely  apprehended  might  be  horrible. 

She  had  no  definite  reason  for  supposing  this  horrible  thing 
to  exist.  The  horror,  indeed,  was  that  it  might  exist,  and 
to  entertain  morbid  thoughts  about  something  that  merely 
might  exist  was  neither  pleasant  nor  wise.  But  at  times 
she  could  not  forget  the  promise  she  had  once  made  to  her- 
self— that  if  anything  unaccountable  ever  happened  to  a 
certain  young  man  she  would  know  in  what  quarter  to  look 
for  the  likely  cause  of  it.  And  something  had  happened. 
Part  of  what  had  happened  she  had  had  from  Miss  Cora ; 
"  A  lethal  chamber — the  nasty  little  sewer-rat !  "  Miss  Cora 
had  said  ;  and  it  had  happened  on  the  eve  of  his  wedding 
to  Evie  Soames.  To  commit  suicide  had  been  the  only 
thing  to  do. 

And  of  course  he  had  committed  suicide.  .  .  . 

Then  that  second  voice  within  her  tried  to  speak  again. 
"  Remember,"  it  said,  "  that  this  Mr  Jeffries,  of  whom  you 
can't  help  thinking  when  all's  said  and  done,  had  suffered 
innumerable  insults  from  him — you  yourself  were  dragged 
into  one  of  them " 

"  Quiet !  "  the  other  self  commanded  peremptorily. 

"  — and  as  far  as  that  girl  you  hate's  concerned — Evie 
Soames — if  the  reason  was  good  enough  for  suicide  it  was 
good  enough  for  the  other  thing." 

"  What  other  thing  ?  "  Louie,  in  spite  of  herself,  could  not 
help  asking. 


PILLAR   TO   POST  205 

"  Oh— you  know  !  " 

"  Do  you  know  what  you're  saying  ?  "  This  was  an 
attempt  to  browbeat  the  other  Louie. 

"  Oh,  perfectly  well !  /  know  myself — you — us — Louie 
Causton — better  than  you  do  !  And  I  know  that  lion 
better  !  Have  you  forgotten  ?  Don't  you  remember  what 
you  thought  of  him,  that  if  he  set  his  mind  on  a  thing  he'd 
get  it  sooner  or  later,  one  way  or  another  ?  Don't  you 
remember  what  he  said — '  I  wonder  if  anybody's  ever 
beaten  who  doesn't  deserve  to  be  ?  '  They  are  dangerous 
men  who  believe  that !  And  the  way's  clear  for  him  now, 
isn't  it  ?  Of  course  it  is !  Why,  suppose  you  hear,  first,  that 
he's  thrown  Kitty  Windus  over ;  suppose  you  hear,  next, 
that  he's  forging  ahead  in  his  business,  whatever  it  is — 
you  know  he's  as  ambitious  as  Satan;  then  suppose  you 
hear  that  he's  engaged  to  Evie  Soames — married  to  her. 
Suppose  you  hear  all  this  ?  " 

"  Oh,  anybody  can  make  up  an  a  priori  tale  like  that !  " 
the  other  scoffed. 

"  Perhaps  they  can ;  but  what  is  a  murder  anyway  ? 
Whoever  sees  one  committed  ?  Don't  they  hang  men  on 
just  such  a  priori  tales,  as  you  call  it  ?  Suppose  that, 
rather  than  let  him  marry  that  girl " 

"  Oh,  stop,  stop ! "  Louie  positively  shrieked  within 
herself. 

She  was  white.  This  scene  always  turned  her  white. 
She  quickened  her  pace,  but  her  ghastly  pallor  remained 
unchanged.  A  hundred  times  she  had  argued  it  all  before, 
and  she  knew  the  conclusion  that  would  presently  come. 

It  came,  the  conclusion.  That  portion  of  herself  that 
always  seemed  resolved  to  convict  Mr  Jeffries  of  a  hideous 
thing  spoke,  as  it  were,  softly,  seductively. 

"  And  what  then,  Louie  ?  What  then  ?  Come,  don't  be 
afraid  of  yourself !  You  know  it  in  your  heart  all  the  time  ! 


206  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

Roy — you  remember — you  had  to  make  the  love  there  ; 
and  you  want  to  be  made  love  to,  not  to  make  love.  You 
didn't  find  Mr  Jeffries  a  butt  and  a  laughing-stock,  you 
know.  You  envied  that  little  chit  of  a  milliner's  hand — 
envied  her  and  hated  her.  And  she  hates  you,  and  always 
will,  because  you  caught  her  in  the  dark  with  that  other 
creature.  Yes,  yes,  I  know  you  were  overstrung  at  that 
time,  and  didn't  see  yourself  very  clearly,  but  look  at  the 
thing  now — you're  calm  now.  When  you  saw  his  eyes,  all 
full  of  perils  and  stratagems  and  deceits,  all  for  her  sake, 
you  know  you  longed  to  have  a  man  do  all  that  for  you  ! 
And  when  he  did  that  mad  thing  with  Kitty  Windus,  you 
know  you  wanted  a  man  who  would  go  even  to  those  lengths 
for  you  \  And  you  know  that  when  he  throws  her  over — 
brutally,  heartlessly,  without  conscience — you'll  want  a 
man  who'll  be  just  as  brutal  and  heartless  and  conscience- 
less for  you  I  You  all  want  it !  You  all  love  a  ruthless 
man  !  You  know  it's  the  men  who  are  the  merciful  sex 
when  sex  comes  into  the  question ;  you're  only  merciful 
when  it  doesn't — just  as  those  stupid  men  are  merciless 
about  the  abstractions  you  don't  care  a  straw  about !  .  .  . 
So  suppose — suppose — 

"  Oh,  stop  !  "  Louie  besought  herself  faintly. 

"  — suppose  it  turns  out  as  I  say  !  Won't  you  immedi- 
ately love  him  a  little  more  when  poor  Kitty's  sent  about  her 
business  ?  And  won't  you  love  him  a  little  more  still  when 
you  hear  he's  engaged  to  Evie  Soames  ?  And  won't  you, 
when  you  learn  that  he's  been  willing  to  go  all  lengths — all 
lengths — for  love,  love  him  past  all  mending  ?  You  will, 
you  will,  you  know  you  will !  "  The  cry  rang  out  almost 
exultantly. 

"  But — but — those  people — coroners'  juries — are  sup- 
posed to  know  all  about  these  things." 

"  Coroners'  juries  ! ...  Do  you  remember  his  eyes  ? . . ." 


PILLAR   TO    POST  207 

Beyond  that  point  Louie  never  got.  She  usually  rose 
quickly  and  went  out  to  post  the  photographer's  letters. 
There,  then,  were  the  elements  of  her  sum.  Sometimes 
some  of  them  presented  themselves,  sometimes  others ; 
more  and  more  she  shrank  from  casting  the  total.  And 
often,  to  shake  off  the  hideous,  fascinating  obsession,  she 
did  the  most  trivial  thing  she  could  think  of — went  to  a 
drawer  and  overhauled  her  dresses,  selecting  the  one  she 
would  wear  at  the  photographer's  showroom  on  the  morrow. 

It  was  in  her  to  turn  from  the  thought  of  a  possible 
murder  to  the  shaking  out  of  a  crumpled  dress. 

But  she  never  wore  the  oyster-grey  at  the  showrooms  in 
Bond  Street.  Nevertheless  she  shook  it  out  frequently, 
putting  it  back  into  the  drawer  again. 

That  day,  at  the  Molyneux  Arms,  Buck  was  alternately 
at  his  fondest  and  at  his  most  tyrannical.  The  fondness 
was  for  Louie  and  the  boy,  the  tyranny  for  everybody  else. 
As  Louie  entered  the  little  private  parlour  (she  was  not 
allowed  to  set  foot  in  the  rest  of  the  premises)  she  heard 
loud  Growings ;  they  came  from  Jimmy,  and  were  for  the 
Pilgrim  of  Love  who  held  him  up  at  arm's-length  in  the  air ; 
but  the  next  moment  Buck  was  scolding  a  barmaid  who  had 
had  the  temerity  to  borrow  the  current  number  of  Modern 
Society  before  Louie  had  seen  it.  "  Not  that  I  don't  make 
'em  all  read  it,"  he  said,  "  but  at  times  and  seasons,  and  in 
their  proper  places  ;  what  with  all  these  Kadicals  and  what 
not  we  don't  want  chayoss  coming  again  !  You  bring  it 
back  this  minute,  miss  ! — '  Oryn — thia  my  Beloved  ! ' : 

Buck  kept  his  divided  humour  through  tea  ;  then  there 
was  another  outburst.  This  time  it  was  about  a  letter  that 
had  not  been  given  to  Louie  immediately. 

"  And  how  do  you  know  that  it  isn't  important  ?  "  he 
broke  out  on  his  wife.  "  Not  a  word — not  a  word  !  I  know 


208  THE    STORY    OF    LOUIE 

it  is  important — all  letters  addressed  so  are  important, 
mind,  for  the  future  !  Those  letters  aren't  about  the  butcher 
and  baker  and  candlestick-maker,  I'll  have  you  know ! 
Give  it  to  her  at  once,  and  let  Madermoselle  hook  up  the 
back,  or  your  next  dress  shall  fasten  down  the  front,  I 
promise  you  !  .  .  .  What,  little  man !  A  granddad,  eh  ? 
'  No  re-(^)-est — but  the  gra-(7i)-ave 

For  all  Louie  was  able  to  guess  from  the  signature,  her 
letter  might  have  been  from  butcher,  baker  and  candlestick- 
maker,  all  three ;  the  name — "  hers  to  serve,  Frank 
Hickley " — was  unknown  to  her.  But  the  single  other 
name  that  the  letter  contained  was  known.  It  was  that  of 
Kitty  Windus.  She  was  laid  up  somewhere  in  Vauxhall, 
and  wanted  to  see  her. 

The  next  morning,  in  a  shabby  respectable  street  off  the 
Vauxhall  Bridge  Road,  Louie  rang  a  bell  beneath  which, 
punched  in  a  strip  of  aluminium,  was  the  sign,  "  F.  Hickley, 
Agent."  F.  Hickley  himself  opened  the  door.  Later 
Louie  learned  that  he  was  an  agent  for  his  wife's  shopping, 
boot-cleaning  and  potato-peeling.  Mrs  Hickley  was  Kitty's 
cousin,  but  the  bit  she  had  coming  in  was  not  enough  to 
relieve  her  of  the  necessity  of  keeping  a  lodging-house. 
That  it  was  a  lodging-house  Louie  guessed  from  the  number 
and  variety  of  hats  and  coats  that  hung  in  the  narrow  yellow- 
painted  hall.  Mrs  Hickley  appeared  from  somewhere  be- 
low ;  Mr  Hickley,  descending  again,  passed  her  on  the  stairs. 

"  Are  you  Miss  Causton  ?  "  Mrs  Hickley  asked. 

"  Yes.    I've  had  gHetter  saying  Miss  Windus  was  here." 

"  Will  you  come  up  ?  Don't  take  too  much  notice  of 
her,  what  she  says,  especially  about  tracts  ;  Uncle  Arthur's 
side's  liable  to  it.  This  way." 

"  Is  she  ill  ?  "  Louie  asked. 

"  Not  to  call  ill.  She'll  go  to  Margate  in  a  week  or  two, 
for  the  air,  though  Margate's  too  strong  for  me ;  Little- 


PILLAR   TO   POST  209 

hampton's  my  favourite.  And  Bognor.  Mind  the  stair- 
rod — I  must  tell  Frank  to  fasten  it  down." 

As  Kitty  had  formerly  found  Louie,  so  Louie  now  found 
Kitty — in  bed.  Her  muteness  as  long  as  Mrs  Hickley 
remained  in  the  room  seemed  obstinate,  voulu ;  the  rapid 
speech  into  which  she  broke  without  preface  when  her 
cousin's  step  had  ceased  to  sound  on  the  stairs  confirmed 
some  vague  impression  of  secretiveness.  Louie  was  un- 
easy at  the  change  in  her. 

"  You're  not  to  talk  about  it,"  Kitty  said,  the  words 
falling  one  over  the  other  ;  "  that's  what  the  doctor  meant, 
though  of  course  he  didn't  know  what  it  was.  And  Mr 
Folliott  too — the  Reverend  Mr  Folliott  of  St  Peters.  He 
gave  me  the  address  in  Cliftonville,  quite  the  best  end  of  the 
town  ;  there's  such  a  lot  in  a  good  address,  don't  you  think  ? 
You  know  Margate  ?  " 

"  How  are  you,  dear  ?  "  said  Louie  gently.  "  Yes,  your 
cousin  told  me  you  were  going  away  for  a  bit." 

"  Right  away,"  said  Kitty.  "  I  can,  you  see  ;  I  haven't 
got  to  work  if  I  don't  want  to ;  though  I'm  not  rich,  of 
course.  Neither  is  Annie,  but  I  don't  like  to  see  men  doing 
the  housework  like  Cousin  Frank  for  all  that.  I've  told 
Frank  so  again  and  again.  '  Be  an  agent,'  I've  said  time 
after  time ;  '  for  typewriters,  or  mangles,  or  tea,  or  any- 
thing you  like,  but  get  out  of  the  house  ;  it  isn't  a  man's 
place.'  And  it  isn't.  .  .  .  You've  heard  ?  "  she  broke  off 
suddenly  to  say. 

She  blinked  at  Louie.  Her  neck  above  her  nightgown  was 
hardly  more  substantial  than  that  of  a  chicken  ;  her  hands 
seemed  to  have  become  as  veined  as  a  skeleton  leaf.  Louie 
took  one  of  them. 

"  Always  running  errands  and  setting  the  table — it  isn't 
a  man's  life,"  Kitty  continued.  ' ' '  What  does  agent  mean  ? ' 
I  said  to  him.  '  Pull  yourself  together  and  make  it  mean 
o 


210  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

something,  Frank ! '  I  said.  '  You're  not  very  big,  but 
you're  strong,  and  you've  got  your  wits  about  you,'  I  said. 
. . .  You've  heard  ?  "  she  demanded  once  more. 

"  Well,  tell  me  how  you  are,"  said  Louie,  patting  the  thin 
hand  soothingly. 

"  But  have  you  heard  the  news  ?  Glad  tidings  for  all. 
'  Come  unto  Me,  and  I  will  give  you  rest ' — that's  what  we 
all  want — rest ;  though  why  they  should  print  '  Gome  '  in 
red  and  '  unto  '  in  green  and  '  Me  '  in  purple,  and  all  the 
letters  like  twigs,  I'm  sure  I  can't  tell  you,  my  dear.  And 
always  Oxford  frames.  I  must  ask  Mr  Folliott.  '  Though 
your  sins  be  as  crimson — 

"  You  haven't  asked  how  my  little  boy  is,  Kitty,"  said 
Louie. 

"  '  Suffer  the  little  children,  and  forbid  them  not ' — how 
is  he  ?  " 

But  she  did  not  wait  for  an  answer.  She  was  off  again — 
the  doctor,  the  Reverend  Mr  Folliott,  her  approaching 
visit  to  Margate.  And  always  she  returned  to  the  indignity 
of  a  man's  doing  women's  work  about  the  house.  It  was 
in  this  connection  that  she  suddenly  mentioned,  in  a  way 
that  gave  Louie  a  slight  start,  the  name  of  Mr  Jeffries. 

"  I  will  at  least  say  that  for  him/'  she  prattled ;  "  I 
shouldn't  have  got  sick  of  the  sight  of  him  ;  out  of  the 
house  at  half-past  nine  he'd  have  been,  and  that  would 
have  been  the  end  of  him  till  six  o'clock ;  not  always  bump- 
ing into  you  like  Frank.  I  suppose  you  know  Miss  Levey's 
there  too,  at  his  Company  ?  He's  getting  on  there  like 
anything.  So's  Mr  Mackie ;  you  remember  Mr  Mackie  ? 
He  takes  the  auction  himself  now  on  Mondays  and  Thurs- 
days ;  in  Oxford  Street ;  everybody  stops  as  they  walk  past ; 
he's  a  caution,  is  Mr  Mackie,  I  can  tell  you  !  But  of  course 
Jeff  " — here  she  became  mysterious,  and  nodded  once  or 
twice — "  Jeff's  on  the  way  up — up.  It's  a  different  class  of 


PILLAR   TO   POST  211 

work  from  Mr  Mackie's ;  better,  as  you  might  say ; 
he's  in  the  Confidential  Exchange  Department,  Miriam 
says " 

"  How  is  Miss  Levey  ?  "  Louie  asked,  at  a  loss  what  else 
to  say. 

"  Oh,  in  the  pink — but  the  soul's  the  chief  thing  ;  what 
shall  it  profit  a  man  ;  and  I  don't  know  whether  her  soul's 
in  the  pink.  Do  you  always  hold  with  the  Church  of 
England,  Louie  ?  "  she  asked  earnestly. 

There  was  nothing  to  be  made  of  her.  She  ran  on 
weakly,  irresponsibly,  from  trifle  to  trifle,  and  it  was  at 
Louie's  own  risk  that  she  gave  her  talk  any  significance  at 
all.  .  .  .  Suddenly  she  insisted  that  she  herself  had  broken 
the  engagement,  not  he.  She  spoke  of  his  place  in  the 
Company — it  was  the  Freight  and  Ballast  Company;  it 
appeared  to  be  a  "  permanency."  He  was  getting  on — on  ; 
lie  wouldn't  polish  brasses  and  take  the  lodgers'  boots  to  be 
mended  !  ...  As  she  talked,  Louie  looked  round  the  poor, 
neat  little  bedroom.  It  had  framed  texts  and  a  picture 
of  a  lady  shipwrecked  in  a  nightgown ;  this  was  entitled 
"  Simply  to  Thy  Cross  I  Cling."  There  was  a  good  deal  of 
muslin  about,  tied  back  with  flyblown  bows. 

But  suddenly  Kitty  seemed  to  remember  something. 
Louie  was  once  more  gently  patting  the  hand  on  the 
counterpane  when  she  gave  a  quick  little  clutch  and  sat  up. 

"  They  wrote  to  you  to  come,  didn't  they  ?  "  she  asked, 
looking  hard  at  Louie. 

"  Yes,  dear.  I'd  have  come  sooner  if  I'd  known.  The 
letter  was  sent  on  from  Mortlake  Road.  I  came  as  soon 
as  I  got  it." 

"  That's  all  right,"  said  Kitty,  nodding  mysteriously 
again.  "  I  want  to  talk  to  you.  Is  the  door  shut  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  don't  talk.    Let  me  talk  to  you  instead." 

"  No ;  there's  something  I  want  to  say,  and  I  shall  forget 


212  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

it  if  I  don't  say  it  now.  .  .  .  You  heard  about  it,  didn't 
you  ?  I  don't  mean  the  glad  tidings  for  all " 

"  Lie  down,  dear."  (Kitty  was  squatting  up  in  bed.) 
"  Tell  me  the  next  time  I  come.  I'll  come  again." 

"No,  I  must  tell  you  now.  Though  Jeff's  sins  be  as 
scarlet.  Of  course  you  heard  about  Archie  ?  " 

"  Hush." 

"  Of  course  you'd  be  down  on  him  ;  quite  right ;  so  was 
Jeff.  Jeff  didn't  half  give  him  a  talking  to,  I  can  tell 
you  !  '  Oh,  I'll  give  him  a  dressing  down,'  he  said  ;  he  was 
pretending  it  wasn't  much,  so  as  not  to  alarm  me ;  but  I 
know  him  !  '  Miss  Causton  and  me  ?  '  he  said.  '  What  a 
ridiculous  idea ! '  And  he  made  Archie  apologise  before 
the  whole  school.  And  now  Archie's  gone,  and  they  said 
it  was  suicide  ;  but  what  I  can't  understand  is  about  Jeff's 
having  that  black  eye,  that  very  day.  He'd  fallen  when 
he  was  drunk,  he  said,  but  Jeff  never  got  drunk.  He  said 
he  tripped  on  the  step ;  but  he  never  got  drunk,  if  you 
understand  what  I  mean.  Wine  is  a  mocker,  isn't  it, 
Louie  ?  But  I'm  sure  Jeff  wasn't  drunk.  He  isn't  that 
kind  of  man." 

Louie  herself  wondered  why  she  should  interpose  as 
quickly  and  peremptorily  as  she  did.  She  wondered,  too, 
why  she  should  do  so  in  the  words  she  used  and  in  a  voice 
so  thin  and  harsh. 

"  Oh — of  course  he  was  drunk !  My  father  keeps  a 
public-house,  so  I  ought  to  know.  And  they  often  get 
black  eyes  when  they're  drunk.  Let's  talk  about  some- 
thing else." 

"  Well,"  said  Kitty,  with  her  head  on  one  side,  "  a 
public-house  is  as  paying  a  business  as  there  is,  especially 
in  a  poor  neighbourhood.  But  I'd  rather  have  my  little 
bit  in  tramways.  People  ought  to  be  careful  how  they 
invest  their  money ;  dividends  aren't  everything ;  what 


PILLAR   TO   POST  213 

shall  it  profit  a  man  ?  So  you  think  I  needn't  worry  about 
Jeff's  black  eye  ?  " 

All  at  once  Louie  felt  an  almost  hysterical  need  to  turn 
Kitty's  weak  wanderings  into  another  direction — any  other 
direction.  Glibly  she  began  to  improvise. 

"  It's  horrid,"  she  said,  her  voice  a  little  raised.  "  I've 
seen  them  at  my  father's.  They  get  drunk,  and  fall,  and 
then  they  get  black  eyes  quite  easily.  And,"  she  ran  on 
regardlessly,  "  they  knock  themselves  about  fearfully ! 
I  saw  a  man  in  the  Harrow  Road  one  night ': 

Feverishly  she  extemporised.  To  something  she  had 
once  seen  from  the  top  of  a  bus  she  gave  colour  and  circum- 
stance. Kitty  was  impressed.  "  Dear  me  !  "  she  said. 

Then,  when  the  danger,  whatever  it  was,  seemed  to  be 
averted,  Louie  turned,  though  not  much  more  calmly,  to 
Margate.  Kitty  was  perfectly  docile  ;  Margate  or  that 
dangerous  other  were  all  the  same  to  her.  Louie  had  never 
been  to  Margate,  but  she  compared  Margate  with  other 
places — Bournemouth,  Ilfracombe,  Scarboro. 

"  I  should  like  to  go  to  Scarboro,"  Kitty  mused — "  Harro- 
gate  too — Harrogate's  tremendously  toney,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Very ;  all  hotels  and  kursaals  and  pump  rooms  and 
things,"  averred  Louie,  who  had  never  been  to  Harrogate 
either. 

Then,  ten  minutes  later,  she  rose.  She  said  good-bye. 
But  even  as  she  did  so  she  received  another  start.  Kitty 
had  suddenly  called  in  a  sharp,  loud  voice. 

"  Was  that  Annie  at  the  door  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Louie,  her  nerves  all  on  edge.  "  There's 
nobody." 

"  Open  the  door  and  look  !  " 

Louie  did  so.  There  was  nobody.  She  returned  to  the 
bed  again.  Kitty  was  once  more  squatting  up.  She  still 
spoke  sharply. 


214  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

"  It's  all  very  well  to  be  so  cocksure,"  she  said,  "  but  if 
Annie  was  to  guess,  or  Miriam  Levey  or  any  of  them,  it 
would  be  all  U  P,  I  can  tell  you  !  Or  Evie  Soames  either  ! 
I  only  told  you  because  you're  different  and  can  hold  your 
tongue  !  The  tongue  is  a  little  member,  so  the  best  thing 
people  can  do  is  to  shut  up,  you  take  my  tip  !  And  / 
broke  it  off,  mind  you  !  There's  as  good  fish  in  the  sea  as 
ever  came  out  of  it,  without  girls  making  themselves  cheap, 
and  if  he  ever  wants  to  know  I'll  tell  him  straight — no 
drunks  and  black  eyes  for  me  !  Not  that  I  don't  forgive  my 
enemies ;  I'm  as  good  at  that  as  the  next  one ;  but  when  I'm 
engaged  again  it'll  be  to  somebody  who's  TT  absolutely, 
though  he  does  clean  the  knives  !  "  Then,  dropping  her 
voice  again,  she  said  equably :  "  Good-bye,  dear — you  will 
come  again,  won't  you  ?  I  sha'n't  be  going  for  a  fortnight — 
the  rooms  aren't  at  liberty  yet — there  isn't  a  sea  view,  but 
it  isn't  a  minute  from  the  Ramsgate  tram — you  must  come 
and  stay  with  me " 

Louie  left  her.  Downstairs  in  the  hall  she  had  a  few 
words  with  Kitty's  cousin.  She  asked  when  the  engage- 
ment with  Mr  Jeffries  had  been  broken  off,  and  was  told 
a  year  ago.  Part  of  the  time  since  then  Kitty  had  spent 
with  another  cousin,  Alf  Windus,  who  lived  in  Kilburn  and 
played  the  first  fiddle  at  the  Metropolitan  in  Edgware 
Road  ;  part  she  had  spent  at  Alf's  sister-in-law's  at  Weald- 
stone  ;  and  for  the  rest  of  the  time  she  had  been  at  the 
Hickleys'.  She  was  only  a  little  flighty  at  times,  and  Mrs 
Hickley  was  too  busy,  what  with  breakfasts  at  different 
hours  and  some  liking  one  thing  and  some  another,  to  pay 
much  attention  to  her.  She  would  have  taken  her  for 
nothing  if  she  could,  but  life  was  a  struggle  and  business 
was  business,  and  Mrs  Hickley  had  been  lucky  enough  to  let 
her  room  for  the  time  she  would  be  away  at  Margate.  If 
Kitty  really  had  anything  to  keep  from  her  cousin, 


PILLAR   TO   POST  215 

apparently  (Louie  concluded)  she  had  kept  it.  Probably 
Kitty's  condition  (Mrs  Hickley  added)  was  a  result  of  the 
shock  of  Archie  Merridew's  suicide,  coinciding  with  her 
rupture  with  Mr  JefEries.  Beyond  that  Mrs  Hickley 
minded  her  own  business — plenty,  too 

"  Thank  you  for  coming,"  she  said,  opening  the  door  for 
Louie. 

"  I  shall  come  again  if  I  may,"  Louie  replied. 

Already  she  knew  that  she  would  go  again — must  go 
again — though  it  was  only  when  she  had  left  the  house 
behind  her  that  she  began  to  ask  herself  why.  Then 
followed  another  dialogue.  The  critical  Louie  began  it. 

"  Well,  what  did  I  tell  you  ?  His  engagement's  off,  and 
he's  getting  on  in  his  business.  I'm  right  so  far,  eh  ?  " 

"  Too  right,"  the  other  Louie  muttered.     "  Let  it  rest." 

"  Will  it  let  you  rest — that's  the  question  !  Well,  what 
do  you  want  next — his  engagement  to  Evie  Soames  ?  " 

"  I  don't  want  anything.  I've  got  my  boy  and  my  living 
to  earn.  That  fills  my  life." 

"  Then  why  are  you  going  to  see  Kitty  again  ?  Gome, 
don't  shirk  it.  You  know  why  you're  going.  You're 
going  to " 

"  I'm  not !  " 

"  You're  going  to  protect  him  !  If  that  poor  creature 
thinks  she  guesses,  you're  going  to  tell  her  the  notion's 
perfectly  absurd  !  You're  going  to  lie  to  her !  If  she  has 
weak  fancies,  you're  going  to  see  that  they're  just  as  wide 
of  the  truth  as  they  can  be.  Do  you  still  deny  what  the 
truth  is  ?  After  whatever  the  tale  is  he's  been  telling  about 
drunkenness  and  a  black  eye  ?  7s  he  that  kind  of  man  ? 
Isn't  that  just  as  likely  as  not  to  be  one  of  his  blinds  ?  A 
man  has  to  be  cunning,  you  know,  to  hoodwink  a  coroner's 
jury,  but  somehow  he  seems  to  have  done  it." 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  it." 


216  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

"  You  mean  you  believe  he  hasn't  done  it  ?  Then  why 
are  you  going  to  see  Kitty  again  ?  Oh,  don't  pretend  to 
me  !  I  tell  you  you're  going  to  protect  him.  And  why 
are  you  going  to  protect  him  ?  (Ah,  I  didn't  think  of  that 
before,  but  I  see  it  now !)  You'll  love  him  a  little  more 
still  just  for  that !  You'll  love  him  because  you  have  his 
safety  in  your  hands.  You'll  keep  it  in  your  hands. 
Even  if  you  have  to  take  Kitty  to  live  with  you,  so  that 
you  can  watch  her  every  spare  moment,  you'll  take  care  she 
never,  never  knows.  You're  planning  it  now.  You're 
going  to  have  a  right  in  that  man  no  other  woman  on  earth 
has,  Evie  Soames  or  anybody  else.  And  you're  going  to 
take  him  from  Evie  Soames  too,  if  you  can  !  " 

The  other  attempted  irony.  "  What,  me  ?  With  my 
story  ?  " 

"  You  only  regret  your  story  because  it  stands  now  in 
your  way  of  getting  him  !  Would  you  marry  Roy  now 
even  if  you  could  gain  a  kingdom  by  it  ?  Why,  you 
wouldn't  before,  let  alone  now  !  What  are  you  going  to  see 
Kitty  again  for — to-morrow  ?  We  shall  see  !  Your  nerves 
are  all  a-jump  at  this  moment ;  you  don't  feel  it  safe  to 
leave  her  even  for  a  few  hours  !  And  another  thing. 
Miriam  Levey  seems  to  be  at  his  place,  wherever  it  is,  and 
you're  positively  trembling  about  that  \  While  you're 
trying  to  worm  things  out  of  Kitty  on  the  one  side,  she'll 
be  at  the  other — you  know  what  she  is  !  So  the  first  thing 
you'll  do  will  be  to  find  out  exactly  what  Kitty's  got  into 
her  head." 

But  here  the  normal  Louie  temporarily  triumphed. 
"  What  a  tale  you're  making  up  !  "  she  laughed.  "  These 
things  simply  do  not  happen.  Actually,  you're  trying  to 
force  it  on  me  that  I  love  a  man  simply  because  he's 
committed  a " 

"  Not  simply  because " 


PILLAR   TO   POST  217 

"  Well,  that  I'm  in  love  with  a  man  who  has  committed 
one.  Tell  that  to  the  world,  and  see  how  you're  laughed 
at !  ...  Oh  no,  it's  too  much.  People  don't  do  it, 
especially  when  it's  guesswork,  pure  and  simple " 

So  she  triumphed.     The  other  Louie  held  her  peace. 

But  for  all  that  she  went  to  see  Kitty  again  on  the 
morrow. 


II 


IT  was  an  error  of  judgment  that  caused  Louie  to  leave 
the  photographer's  in  Bond  Street.  The  money  she  owed 
to  Buck  and  Chaff  was  on  her  mind  ;  she  saw  that  Richenda 
Earle  had  been  right ;  she  was  not  yet  out  in  the  open. 
She  sought  to  diminish  her  indebtedness  by  finding  a  better- 
paid  post. 

The  opportunity  presented  itself.  She  obtained,  at  a 
salary  of  three  pounds  a  week,  the  coveted  secretaryship. 
Never  mind  to  whom  she  became  secretary ;  he  is  now  a 
renowned  author ;  and  Louie  was  with  him  for  just  a 
fortnight.  At  the  end  of  that  time  he  offered  to  double  her 
salary.  Louie's  answer  was  to  walk  immediately  out  of 
his  house.  She  had  now  no  job  at  all. 

The  story  of  the  pinch  shall  be  passed  over  lightly.  The 
boy  did  not  feel  it ;  it  was  she  who  tightened  her  belt. 
Promising  herself  that  it  was  for  the  last  time,  she  borrowed 
of  Buck,  and  then  removed  to  Edith  Grove,  taking  two 
small  rooms  in  the  same  house  as  Myrtle  Morris,  the  model. 
But  Myrtle  had  gone  for  the  Christmas  season  into  panto- 
mime, and  as  Louie  was  out  all  day,  and  asleep  when 
Myrtle  returned  at  night,  she  saw  little  of  her.  She  would 
have  gone  into  pantomime  too,  but  she  was  too  late,  and 
still  hoped  for  something  better.  Of  necessity  Celeste 
remained  with  her ;  Celeste  kept  the  place  going  with  her 


218  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

needle.  This  was  at  the  beginning  of  1898.  February 
found  her  again  in  a  cash-desk,  this  time  at  Slater's.  The 
desk  had  a  mirrored  panel  in  the  front  of  it  that  extended 
from  the  narrow  counter  to  the  floor,  and  at  first  Louie 
wondered  why  clerks  and  shop-assistants  put  down  their 
money,  stood  back  from  the  desk,  and  grinned.  Then  one 
day,  when  somebody  else  was  inside  the  box,  she  noticed 
the  illusion.  The  head  and  shoulders  of  the  girl  in  the  cage 
appeared  to  be  continued  downwards  by  the  trousers  of  a 
man.  As  she  could  not  afford  to  throw  up  her  job,  she 
continued  to  bear  the  grins  disdainfully.  After  her  day's 
work  she  acquired  from  Celeste  the  art  of  crochet.  Her 
mats  and  table-centres  and  borders  for  teacloths  went  in 
with  Celeste's  own  work. 

Her  improved  French  enabled  her  to  pass,  in  April,  from 
the  cash-desk  at  Slater's  to  one  at  a  foreign  restaurant  in 
Soho.  She  still  lived  in  Edith  Grove.  For  several  weeks 
that  summer  she  was  again  at  Earls  Court,  but  with  the 
reopening  of  the  theatres  she  obtained  a  place  in  the  ladies' 
cloakroom  at  His  Majesty's.  One  night  she  helped  Miss 
Elwell,  the  daughter  of  Sir  James  Elwell  of  the  Treasury, 
off  with  her  cloak.  She  was  unrecognised.  She  wondered 
how  B.  Minor  was  getting  on. 

She  was  still  at  His  Majesty's  at  Christmas  1898 ;  but 
the  New  Year  saw  her  at  still  another  place — a  Ladies' 
Turkish  Baths,  in  St  James's.  Buck,  angry  and  dis- 
approving of  the  whole  course  of  her  life,  liked  this  least 
of  all ;  massage  somehow  brought  it  home  to  him.  But 
there  was  a  worse  shock  still  in  store  for  Buck.  In  the 
spring  of  '99  Louie  became  an  artist's  model. 

Myrtle  Morris  introduced  her  to  the  profession  and  to 
Roy's  friend,  Billy  Izzard,  at  the  same  time.  This  also  was 
in  Edith  Grove.  Billy  Izzard,  whose  large,  boyish  face 
and  loose,  shambling  figure  somehow  gave  Louie  the  impres- 


PILLAR   TO   POST  219 

sion  that  he  had  either  grown  too  quickly  or  else  not  yet 
filled  out,  was  telling  Miss  Morris,  with  a  candour  entirely 
disarming,  that  for  some  purpose  or  other  her  own  form 
was  no  good  at  all ;  and  Miss  Morris  asked  him  why  he 
didn't  try  the  Models'  Club.  He  snorted. 

"  Try  it  ?  I  have  tried  it ;  tried  everything.  Fact  of 
the  matter  is,  it's  like  going  to  a  Registry  Office  for  ser- 
vants ;  you  find  the  rich  people  have  snapped  up  all  the 
best  before  they  get  there.  Old  Henson  gets  'em.  He's  got 
the  very  girl  I  want ;  Miss  Gale  ;  but  I  can't  pay  what 
Henson  pays.  And  the  rest  of  you  are  like  that  egg — 
good  in  parts." 

Louie  wondered  whether  Billy  had  ever  heard  her  name 
before  ;  she  found  a  way  of  making  sure.  The  talk  turned 
to  holiday-places  for  the  coming  summer,  and  Louie  con- 
trived to  mention  the  Somerset  coast  and  the  Bristol  Channel. 
The  unsuspecting  Billy  told  her  that  he  had  once  been 
yachting  there  with  a  fellow  and  had  had  a  smash-up.  It 
was  amusing.  According  to  Billy,  the  other  fellow  had 
rather  fancied  himself  as  a  patcher-up  of  broken  centre- 
boards and  suchlike,  had  put  in  at  some  place  or  other,  and 
had  said  he'd  made  the  centre-board  all  right ;  and  he'd 
come  pretty  near  drowning  the  pair  of  them  off  a  place 
called  Combe  Martin.  Luckily  they'd  been  spied  by  the 
coastguard,  and  a  boat  had  been  put  out  to  them.  "  Rot- 
tenest  piece  of  navigation  in  England,"  Billy  grumbled  on  ; 

"  there's  a  place  called  the  Boiling  Pot "  He  described 

it.  ... 

Louie  felt  a  little  gush  of  gratitude  towards  Roy.  He 
had  not  chattered.  But  of  course  he  would  not 

She  did  not  offer  at  once  to  sit  to  Billy ;  it  was  a  fort- 
night later  that  she  screwed  up  her  courage  to  do  so. 
During  that  time  she  thought  the  matter  out.  Perhaps 
the  stark  simplicity  of  the  thing  attracted  her.  No  acquire- 


220  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

ment  she  was  ever  likely  to  possess  would  greatly  improve 
her  circumstances ;  it  would  probably  be  the  same  to  the 
end  of  the  chapter — cash-desk,  waitress,  Earls  Court — 
Earls  Court,  mannequin,  and  a  private  secretaryship  with 
an  offer  of  double  wages.  At  two  colleges  she  had  learned 
little  or  nothing ;  she  lacked  application ;  but  here  was  some- 
thing that  quietly  brushed  acquirements  aside — something 
that  went  flagrantly  by  favour.  It  was  femininity  reduced 
to  its  simplest  statement.  She  had  no  fear  of  Billy  Izzard. 
She  guessed  that  to  him  she  would  be  little  more  than  a 
more  complex  whitewashed  cube  or  cone  or  pyramid. 

She  did  not  even  colour  when  she  made  her  proposal  to 
him.  .  .  . 

"  But  I  expect  you'll  go  off  to  old  Henson  or  some  other 
swell  presently,"  he  sighed,  as  she  stood  before  him.  .  .  . 

And  of  course  Chaff,  barring  her  face  that  was  best 
suited  with  a  large  shady  hat,  had  given  her  her  testimonial 
long  before. 

Buck  was  furious.  The  original,  genuine  Pilgrim  of  Love 
had  reason  enough  to  know  what  happened  in  studios. 
Young  women  of  high  birth  (in  Louie's  case  it  would 
probably  be  a  young  man)  began  to  take  their  lunches 
there,  and  one  day  burst  into  jealous  unhappy  tears,  and 
after  that  the  Pilgrimage  began.  But  Louie  only  laughed 
at  him.  She  reminded  him  that  she  had  reason  to  regard 
herself  as  a  pilgrim  too.  At  that  Buck  looked  hard  at  her. 

"  Little  woman,"  he  said  slowly,  "  d'you  mean — that 
there  is  somebody  ?  " 

Louie  laughed  again,  but  more  consciously. 

"  Once  or  twice  lately,"  Buck  continued,  still  looking 
hard  at  her,  "  I've  wondered  whether  there  might  be 

"  How  can  there  be,  daddy  ?  " 

"  Well,  the  other  isn't  befitting,"  said  Buck,  shaking  his 
head  and  returning  to  the  original  point. 


PILLAR   TO    POST  221 

"My  daddy  did  it." 

"Ah,  men's  different.  For  high  ladies  it — it  isn't  be- 
fitting." 

"  I'm  not  a  young  girl,  daddy." 

"  No."  Buck  sighed.  If  he  had  only  known  her  when 
she  was  a  young  girl !  But  the  whims  of  the  Scarisbricks 
were  still  the  Scarisbricks'  whims,  and  as  such  above  his 
judgment.  "  But  I  want  to  see  this  Mr  Izzard,"  he  added 
grimly. 

"  That  you  certainly  sha'n't,"  Louie  replied  promptly. 
"  Fancy  your  taking  me  round  everywhere  I  go  !  " 

"  Everywhere  ?  "  Buck  repeated,  alarmed  anew. 

"  Of  course.  If  it's  a  business  it's  a  business.  Why,  Mr 
Izzard  alone  would  be — dreadful !  It's  no  good,  daddy ; 
you  can't  change  my  mind." 

He  saw  that  he  could  not,  but  he  still  tried.  It  only 
delayed  a  little  her  carrying  of  her  point.  In  the  end — 
well,  she  was  her  mother's  daughter.  There  was  no  more 
to  be  said. 

So  she  began  to  make  the  round  of  the  Chelsea  studios, 
and  presently  moved,  with  Celeste  and  the  boy,  to  more 
comfortable  quarters  in  Lavender  Hill,  Clapham  Junction. 
This  took  her  farther  from  her  work  in  Chelsea,  but  brought 
her  nearer  to  the  Lambeth  and  Westminster  Schools  of 
Art,  where  also  she  obtained  sittings,  sometimes  during  the 
day,  sometimes  in  the  evenings  also.  She  sat  for  Billy 
when  Billy  could  afford  to  pay  her.  "  No,  no — no  tick, 
Billy,"  she  told  him  once  ;  "  I  don't  do  this  for  amuse- 
ment." Of  the  boy  Billy  knew  nothing.  .  .  .  Buck,  still 
strongly  averse  from  the  whole  proceeding,  at  first  refused 
to  hear  her  gossip  of  the  day's  work ;  but,  as  his  silence  did 
not  alter  matters,  little  by  little  he  began  to  come  round. 
Soon  they  exchanged  experiences  quite  freely.  He  told 
her  what  Sopley  had  said  about  his  deltoid,  Henson  about 


222  THE   STORY    OF   LOUIE 

his  thigh.  "  You  vain  old  daddy  !  "  she  said,  stroking  his 
cheek,  "  I  believe  for  two  pins  you'd  do  it  again !  "  She 
took  a  pleasure  in  fondly  shocking  him  in  the  same  sort. 
Sometimes  he  mused  long.  You  will  admit  that  it  was 
something  to  muse  over.  And  so — well,  so  Louie,  throwing 
acquirements  aside  with  her  clothes,  became,  by  virtue  of 
her  peculiar  commodity,  economically  emancipated.  As 
female  models,  women  are  eminently  better  than  men. 

She  did  fairly  well  at  it.  So  well  did  she  do  that  from 
the  three  rooms  in  Lavender  Hill  (the  third  one  Celeste's) 
piece  by  piece  her  landlady's  furniture  began  to  disappear. 
Her  own  took  its  place.  She  intended,  when  she  had 
enough  of  her  own,  to  save  the  difference  in  rent  between 
furnished  and  unfurnished  quarters  by  taking  a  small  flat. 
So  her  two  chests  of  drawers  and  her  wardrobe  were  her 
own  ;  so  were  much  of  her  cutlery  and  bed  and  table  linen  ; 
and  so,  of  course,  were  Jimmy's  various  paraphernalia. 
But  she  was  not  ready  to  leave  yet.  The  summer  of  1900, 
she  thought,  would  be  early  enough. 

And  in  one  particular  at  least  she  was  now  able  to  hold 
up  her  head.  She  still  owed  money  both  to  Buck  and 
Chaff,  but  she  knew  as  much  about  the  struggle  for  a  liveli- 
hood as  Richenda  Earle  herself.  And  she  had  not  grizzled. 
Life  had  not  knocked  her  out.  She  was  her  father's 
daughter  after  all. 

And  yet,  once  more,  she  felt  herself  her  mother's  daughter 
too.  The  reason,  which  was  not  very  far  to  seek,  was  this  : 

The  earlier  stages  of  that  furtive  romance  that  in  the  end 
had  left  her  former  husband  no  Rest  but  the  Grave  were 
known  only  to  Mrs  Chaffinger  herself.  Henson  had  not 
guessed  them ;  Lord  Moone  had  seen  only  the  resultant 
scandal  of  them.  But  Louie  understood  a  little  now. 
She  could  at  least  guess  what  had  happened  to  her  mother 
between  her  first  setting  eyes  on  the  splendid  Buck  and 


PILLAR   TO   POST  223 

that  final  petulant,  pathetic  cry :  "  Oh,  that  I  should  have 
to  beg  a  man  to  marry  me  !  "  By  sympathy  she  was  able 
now  to  divine  the  sighs,  the  half-acknowledged  longings, 
the  half -shamed  daydreams,  the  revulsions,  the  sinkings 
back  again.  For  Louie  now  knew  something  of  these 
things  within  herself. 

Not  that  there  was  not  harder  stuff  in  Louie.  There 
was.  There  was,  for  example,  that  sense  of  proportion 
which  is  humour.  How  could  her  thoughts  of  Mr  Jeffries 
not  be  rather  preposterous  ?  She  found  it  difficult  some- 
times to  remember  even  his  personal  appearance  ;  she  had 
well-nigh  forgotten  his  voice ;  many  idle  repetitions  had 
dulled  the  memory  of  that  odd  little  thrill  she  had  felt 
when  her  hand  had  lain  in  his.  True,  she  remembered 
these  things  in  a  way.  She  remembered  the  tawny  bulk 
of  him,  the  lion's  eyes,  the  gloss  of  his  hair,  the  modeless 
fashion  of  his  speech ;  but  these  were  mere  noted  facts, 
no  more  hers  than  everybody  else's.  Yet  what  (she  asked 
herself)  had  become  of  her  sense  of  humour  that  she  should 
want  something  of  him  that  nobody  else  had  ?  What  had 
happened  to  her  sense  of  proportion  that  she  did  not  forget 
him  as  she  had  forgotten  scores  of  people  of  whom  she  had 
seen  far,  far  more  ?  And  how  had  it  come  about  that, 
for  one  thought  she  cast  on  Roy,  Mr  Jeffries  had  twenty  ? 
And  why  this  new  and  curious  understanding  of  her  mother  ? 

She  asked  herself  these  questions  behind  the  grilles  of 
her  cash-desks,  behind  the  counters  of  her  Earls  Court 
stalls,  posing  or  crocheting  on  her  model  thrones,  riding 
backwards  and  forwards  to  her  sittings  or  what  not  on 
the  tops  of  omnibuses.  Usually  she  answered  herself 
more  or  less  like  this : 

"  It  looks  very  much  as  if  I  was  making  of  him  what  he 
seems  to  have  made  of  that  Soames  girl — a  sort  of  id&e 
fixe ;  if  I  were  to  fall  really  in  love  now,  I  suppose  I  shouldn't 


224  THE    STORY    OF   LOUIE 

think  any  more  about  him.  Luckily  it  doesn't  matter ; 
it's  my  own  affair.  Good  gracious,  suppose  Tie  knew  ! 
He'd  think  me  as  imbecile  as  I  am  ! — There  I  go  again !  " 
(This  probably,  some  minutes  later).  "  Suppose  I  had 
met  him  earlier,  and  things  had  been  different — what  about 
it  ?  What's  the  good  of  remembering  all  that  now  ? 
Well,  it  puts  the  time  on  down  this  beastly  Kennington 
Lane.  .  .  .  Thank  goodness  I'm  not  likely  to  come  across 
him ;  I  can't  help  thinking  something  would  happen  if 
I  did.  .  .  .  Poor  mother  !  "  she  usually  ended  inconse- 
quentially, "  I  suppose  she'd  be  about  my  age.  I'm  turned 
thirty — thirty-one  in  fact — shall  have  to  stop  counting 
soon.  Time  you  stopped  counting  when  it  occurs  to  you 

that  your  mother  had  dreams  just  as  silly  as  yours " 

And  so,  whether  this  Mr  Jeffries  meant  much  or  little  to 
her,  he  did  not  mean  so  much  but  that  any  trivial  near 
occurrence — a  cold  of  young  Jimmy's,  a  cold  of  her  own 
that  prevented  her  from  sitting  for  a  day  or  two,  or  a  fall 
in  the  crochet-market — put  Mr  Jeffries  and  the  wild  and 
tangled  ideas  that  seemed  to  cloak  his  image  temporarily 
quite  out  of  her  thoughts. 

When  early  in  the  year  1900  she  got  regular  sittings 
for  a  time  with  an  artist  who  lived  in  St  John's  Wood,  she 
never  went  up  or  down  Tottenham  Court  Road  in  the 
Victoria  bus  without  half  expecting  to  run  across  Evie 
Soames,  who  lived  in  Woburn  Place.  Because  she  did  not 
meet  her,  she  concluded  that  very  likely  she  lived  there  no 
longer.  But,  late  on  a  windy  afternoon  in  March,  at  about 
the  time  when  the  street  lamps  were  being  lighted,  she  did 
meet  her. 

It  was  opposite  the  Adam  and  Eve,  in  Euston  Road, 
and  on  either  of  the  two  women's  parts  there  was  a  curious 
momentary  hesitation.  If  Evie  Soames  still  lived  in 


PILLAR    TO    POST  225 

Woburn  Place  and  was  going  home,  the  first  bus  that  came 
would  do  for  her,  and  Louie  had  already  seen  her  glance 
as  it  approached ;  but  as  it  happened,  that  bus  was  the 
Victoria  bus  for  which  Louie  herself  was  waiting.  Louie 
spoke ;  it  seemed  to  her  that  not  to  speak  would  be  to 
apologise,  by  silence,  for  that  episode  in  her  career  that  had 
brought  Kitty  Windus  in  haste  to  the  Nursing  Home  in 
Mortlake  Road.  A  large  parcel  she  was  carrying  gave  her 
an  excuse  not  to  shake  hands. 

"  How  do  you  do  ?  "  she  said. 

Something,  she  could  not  have  told  what,  had  instantly 
drawn  her  eyes  to  the  girl's  attire.  Evie  Soames  was  wear- 
ing a  black  jacket  and  black  fur  cap,  but  the  wind,  turning 
the  jacket  aside,  showed  the  narrow  black  and  white 
stripes  of  the  blouse  beneath. 

"  Oh — fancy  meeting  you  !  "  Evie  said,  turning  her 
dark  eyes  as  if  she  had  only  that  moment  seen  Louie. 
There  was  something  in  her  manner  that  Louie  interpreted 
as  meaning,  "  Very  well,  if  I've  got  to  be  cordial  I'll  be 
cordial !  "  "  Are  you  going  by  this  bus  ?  "  she  added. 

"  Yes." 

"  Oh  !    Where  are  you  living  now — Putney  ?  " 

It  may  be  that  Louie  met  any  slight  the  last  word  might 
have  conveyed  half-way  and  more.  She  replied,  a  little 
shortly:  "No,  Lavender  Hill;  I  change  at  Victoria. 
After  you " 

"  Oh  no— after  you  !  " 

Louie  ascended ;  they  couldn't  stand  on  the  kerb  dis- 
cussing points  of  precedence.  "  Let's  go  in  front,"  Evie 
said,  "  and  then  men  won't  smoke  on  us,"  and  they  settled 
down. 

"  Well,"  Evie  said,  adjusting  the  apron,  "  and  how  are 
you  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Louie,  "  perfectly  well." 


226  THE    STORY    OF    LOUIE 

"  There's  room  for  your  parcel  here.     Such  ages  since 
we  met !    Let  me  see,  when  was  it  ?  " 

They  discussed  when  it  was,  and  then,  "And  have  you 
seen  Kitty  Windus  lately  ?  "  Evie  asked. 

Since  her  first  visit  to  the  Hickleys'  Louie  had  seen  Kitty 
perhaps  half-a-dozen  times  in  all,  not  oftener.  Kitty  had 
been  to  Margate,  thence  to  Whetstone,  and  after  that  to 
Alf  Windus  the  violinist's.  Louie  had  simply  not  been  able 
to  see  her  oftener  ;  she  had  had  far  too  much  to  do.  And, 
after  all,  nothing  (the  nothing  of  Louie's  fears  and  fancies) 
seemed  to  have  happened.  Except  to  herself  (Louie 
guessed)  Kitty  made  no  mysterious  allusions  to  black  eyes. 
She  was  merely  puzzled,  pathetic,  harmless.  She  had  not 
that  perilous  thing,  a  preconceived  theory  into  which  events 
had  a  fulfilling  way  of  dropping  of  themselves.  So  Louie 
replied  to  Evie  Soarnes  in  a  tone  as  casual  as  her  own  : 

"  Oh  yes,  I've  seen  her  several  times.     Of  course  you 
heard  that  her  engagement  to  Mr  Jeffries  was  broken  off  ?  " 
"  Oh  yes,"  said  Evie,  looking  straight  in  front  of  her. 
"  Have  you  seen  her,  then  ?  " 

"  Oh  no.  But  of  course  Mr  Jeffries  himself  would  know, 
wouldn't  he  ? — that  is,  if  you  call  it  breaking  off  when  a 
person  just  disappears  without  saying  where  she  is  or  any- 
thing about  it.  Don't  bother  to  unbutton ;  I  have  some 

pennies " 

But  Louie  also  had  pennies.  "  Any  more  fares  ?  "  the 
conductor  called,  and  then  went  downstairs  again.  The 
two  women  fell  into  a  silence.  The  early  lamplight  came 
and  went  on  their  faces  as  the  bus  jogged  on. 

Presently  the  silence  seemed  to  have  taken  almost  the 
character  of  a  contest  as  to  who  should  speak  next,  with 
either  resolved  that  it  should  not  be  herself.  Louie  knew 
perfectly  well  what  was  the  matter.  Miss  Soames  might 
speak  glancingly  of  Mortlake  Road  and  offer  to  pay  her 


PILLAR   TO    POST  227 

bus  fares,  but  really  she  hated  Louie  because  of  Louie's 
discovery  in  the  old  ledger-room  on  that  examination  day 
that  now  seemed  so  long  ago.  The  girl  seemed  to  be  still 
in  some  sort  of  half  mourning — but  Louie  did  not  want  to 
think  much  of  that  and  all  that  it  might  mean.  Bather 
desperately,  she  strove  to  forget  that  she  had  ever  had  a 
theory  about  what  might  have  driven  Evie  Soames  into 
black  and  of  what  might  happen  when  she  went  into  colours 
again.  She  must,  she  told  herself  sharply,  have  a  hideous 
mind  ever  to  have  thought  these  things.  Indeed,  she  was 
so  short  with  herself  about  it  that,  relinquishing  the  contest 
of  silence,  she  again  made  the  small  immediate  thing  banish 
the  large  shadowy  one  behind. 

"  Do  you  ever  see  Miriam  Levey  nowadays  ?  "  she  asked 
suddenly. 

"  No,"  Evie  replied.  At  any  rate  she  had  not  been  the 
first  to  speak. 

"  Oh  ?  But  aren't  she  and  Mr  Jeffries  at  the  same  place 
now  ?  " 

**  Yes,  I  believe  they  are — in  fact,  I  know  they  are.  I 
suppose  Kitty  told  you  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Poor  Kitty  !  But  let  me  see  :  was  Miriam  at  the  ofiice 
when  Kitty  came  to  Mortlake  Road  ?  I  thought  it  was 
after  that  she  went." 

"  I've  seen  Kitty  more  than  once,"  said  Louie,  com- 
pressing her  lips.  The  bus  was  slowing  down  opposite 
the  Oxford. 

"  Ah,  yes,  you  said  so.  Well,  remember  me  to  her  when 
you  see  her  again,  won't  you  ?  I  get  down  here.  I  hope 
you'll  get  your  parcel  home  all  right ;  it's  rather  a  large 
one,  isn't  it  ?  Good-bye." 

As  Evie  Soames's  figure  was  lost  in  the  crowd  that  jostled 
in  the  lights  of  the  Horse  Shoe  Louie  did  not  look  round. 


228  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

She  was  too  angry.  "  Good  gracious  !  "  she  exclaimed, 
"  the  insupportable  little  creature  !  Why,  I  never  looked 
at  one  of  my  mother's  housemaids  so  !  De  haut  en  bas — 
her  to  me !  But  I  did  catch  you  that  day,  Miss  Polly  Ross, 
and  you  know  it !  " 

But  as  the  bus  moved  southwards  again,  she  was  trying 
once  more  to  forget  that  white  stripe  in  Evie  Soames's 
dress.  She  did  not  want  to  think  that  anything  had 
suddenly  seemed  to  come  a  stride  nearer.  And  she  would 
now  rather  not  have  been  told,  what  apparently  was  the 
fact,  that,  whether  frequently  or  not,  Evie  Soames  did  see 
Mr  Jeffries. 

The  parcel  she  was  taking  home  contained  a  dress ;  she 
had  been  sitting  in  it ;  but  it  was  not  the  oyster-grey. 
The  old  oyster-grey,  too,  served  to  bring  her  nearer  to  her 
mother  and  that  weak  flicker  of  romance  long  ago  in 
Henson's  studio.  Not  for  worlds  would  she  have  had 
Celeste  see  the  idiotic  looks  she  sometimes  gave  that  dress 
in  which  she  had  danced  with  Mr  Jeffries.  And  sometimes 
she  would  suddenly  toss  it  aside,  roughly,  anyhow.  She 
was  not  seventeen  (she  would  tell  herself),  to  moon  over  a 
flower  a  man  had  given  her  or  a  dance  programme  on  which 
he  had  scrawled  his  name.  She  was  a  woman  of  turned 
thirty-one  (she  rubbed  it  in),  with  her  living  to  earn  and  an 
illegitimate  son  to  provide  for.  .  .  .  But  sometimes  she 
was  very  wistful  too.  She  had  never  (she  sighed)  really 
been  a  girl  of  seventeen  at  all ;  looking  back,  she  saw  that 
she  had  missed  that.  She  blamed  nobody ;  no  doubt  she 
had  been  unruly,  ill-conditioned,  unmanageable ;  still,  she 
had  missed  that.  The  thought  always  sent  her  off  into 
her  reveries  again ;  and  then,  how  differently,  how  much 
more  admirably,  she  was  able  to  plan  everything  to  herself  ! 
Over  and  over  again  she  built  it  all  up,  unbuilt  it  again, 
rearranged  it,  played  with  it.  Had  she,  as  a  girl  of  seven- 


PILLAR   TO   POST  229 

teen,  met  Mr  Jeffries — had  this  circumstance  been  different, 
that  particular  not  been  the  same — had  she  nursed  no  grudge 
against  her  mother — had  it  been  Mr  Jeffries,  not  Roy,  with 
whom  she  had  kicked  her  long  legs  during  the  vacations  at 
Mallard  Bois — had  she,  in  a  word,  had  the  arranging  of  the 
world  herself  and  the  choosing  of  the  places  she  and  he  were 

to  occupy  in  it 

"  Bosh  !  "  she  usually  cut  herself  abruptly  off.  "  I  shall 
be  afraid  of  turning  a  corner  soon  for  fear  of  walking  into 
the  gentleman  !  What  shall  I  take  in  for  supper  ?  " 

She  did  not  know  yet — indeed  it  was  only  some  months 
later  that  she  learned  it,  but  it  is  set  down  here — that  already, 
at  a  Langham  Exhibition,  Billy  Izzard  had  one  day  seen  a 
big  stranger  standing  before  one  of  his  sketches,  had  gone 
up  and  spoken  to  him,  and  had  liked  the  fellow — had  liked 
his  hewn  slab  of  a  face  with  the  yellow  eyes  in  it  so  much 
that  presently,  having  an  old  sketch  he  was  never  likely  to 
sell,  he  had  given  it  to  him.  But  Billy  would  at  any  time 
rather  give  away  a  sketch  to  somebody  he  liked  than  sell 
one  to  somebody  he  didn't  like,  and  he  still  set,  moreover, 
less  than  their  real  value  on  those  paintings  of  flowers  that 
he  "  knocked  off  "  in  a  couple  of  keen  and  nervous  hours. 
One  of  these  sketches,  by  the  way,  Louie  herself  coveted — 
a  straggle  of  violets,  a  few  white  ones  among  them,  in  a 
lustre  bowl ;  and  she  offered  a  certain  number  of  sittings 
in  exchange  for  it — another  elementary  example  of  the 
transaction  in  kind.  But  Billy  shook  his  head.  He  wanted 
that  for  a  wedding  present  for  a  fellow,  he  said.  He'd  give 
Louie  another  some  time — after  he'd  found  another  studio. 
He  was  sick  of  Chelsea ;  when  a  fellow  got  to  know  the  cracks 
in  the  flagstones  it  was  time  he  moved.  He  thought  of 
going  up  north  somewhere,  Camden  Town  or  Hampstead 
or  St  John's  Wood — better  air.  So  Louie  could  make  up 


230  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

her  mind  to  the  bus-rides,  or  else  move  too.     He  wasn't 
going  to  let  Henson  get  hold  of  her. 

But  Louie  still  delayed  to  move  from  Lavender  Hill. 


Ill 


LOUIE'S  adventures,  as  she  continued  to  sit,  would  fill 
a  book  :  but  not  this  book.  Her  sittings  were  the  accidents 
of  her  life ;  her  real  life  she  reckoned  from  Sunday  to 
Sunday.  Sundays  were  the  blest  days  she  devoted  to 
Jimmy. 

He  was  now  nearly  four  years  old,  and  (as  Celeste  con- 
tinued delightedly  to  exult)  "  existed  "  and  "  manifested  " 
indeed.  Louie  herself  gave  him  his  bath  before  she  set 
out  of  a  morning  ;  she  did  so  in  a  waterproof  and  little  else — 
why,  the  splashed  condition  of  the  wall-paper  in  the  poky 
little  bathroom  explained.  It  was  the  same  old  water- 
proof she  had  worn  at  Rainham  Parva.  Buck's  admiration 
of  the  boy's  chest  and  limbs  was  merely  fatuous  ;  he  himself 
was  teaching  him  to  swim  at  the  Public  Baths.  He  had 
announced  to  Louie,  with  a  great  show  of  harshness,  that 
the  money  she  was  fool  enough  to  refuse,  .the  boy  would  have 
the  benefit  of ;  that  at  least  was  something  she  couldn't 
prevent,  he  informed  her,  and  though  Louie  scolded  fondly 
back,  it  was  a  weight  off  her  mind.  Chaff,  the  other  grand- 
father, came  occasionally  on  Sundays ;  he  came,  for  example, 
on  the  Sunday  after  the  opening  of  the  Royal  Academy. 
He  brought  a  catalogue  with  him,  and,  taking  Louie  into 
a  corner,  desired  her  to  mark  the  numbers  for  which  she  had 
sat.  Whether  the  poor  old  fellow  meditated  the  buying  of 
them  all  up,  or  what  else,  there  was  no  telling.  Her  sittings, 
too,  were  "  just  like  Mops."  Perhaps  that  was  more  than 
some  of  the  pictures  were. 


PILLAR    TO   POST  231 

But  it  is  not  true,  as  has  been  reported,  that  for  Henson's 
last  picture,  "  Resurgam,"  Buck  Causton  and  his  daughter 
posed  together.  Buck  never  posed  after  his  first  marriage. 
Louie  only  posed  for  Henson  once,  and  that  was  in  wet 
drapery.  She  caught  a  pretty  cold  in  consequence.  She 
exulted  in  that  cold ;  it  gave  her  three  whole  days  with 
little  Jimmy.  They  played  with  tops  and  balls  and  soldiers 
on  the  floor.  The  boy  wanted  an  ensign's  uniform,  like  that 
of  the  fourth  Lord  Moone  in  the  miniature,  and  Chaff 
bought  him  a  dragoon's  helmet  and  cuirass.  Buck  laughed 
because  the  cuirass  was  already  too  small ;  and  then  he 
sighed.  Perhaps  he  remembered  the  suit  of  armour  of  Big 
Hugo  at  Mallard  Bois. 

Well,  if  a  little  money  was  all  that  was  necessary,  the 
boy  could  be  put  into  the  army  by-and-by. 

And  so  things  might  have  gone  on  had  they  been  destined 
to  do  so ;  but  into  Louie's  life  of  busy  sitting  and  foolish 
dreaming  and  Sunday's  rompings  with  her  boy,  there 
came  a  disruptive  force.  Kitty  Windus  brought  it  on  a 
Sunday  morning  in  early  June. 

Celeste  was  reading  a  story  to  Jimmy  when  she  walked 
in  ;  Louie  was  putting  the  last  touches  to  a  piece  of  crochet ; 
and  all  three  were  awaiting  Buck's  arrival  with  the  trap — 
he  was  going  to  take  them  to  Hampton  Court.  She  entered 
unannounced,  and,  to  Louie's  way  of  thinking,  would  have 
been  better  in  bed.  Her  face  seemed  unusually  small  and 
thin  ;  she  spoke  in  a  high,  painful  voice. 

"  Louie,  I  want  to  see  you — quick " 

It  was  as  if  Louie  too  caught  an  instant  alarm.  Hurriedly 
she  dropped  her  just-finished  crochet  and  rose. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  she  asked  quickly.  "  Come  into 
my  bedroom." 

In  the  quite  prettily  furnished  little  bedroom  Kitty  began 
to  walk  rapidly  to  and  fro.  Once  or  twice  she  turned  her 


232  THE    STORY   OF    LOUIE 

looks  to  the  brown-papered  walls,  as  if  she  expected  to  find 
texts  there  ;  for  the  rest  the  blinking  little  eyes  roved 
ceaselessly  at  about  knee-height  from  the  floor.  Then  she 
stopped  before  Louie. 

"  They're  getting  married  in  a  fortnight,"  she  cried 
harshly,  accusingly. 

There  is  no  need  for  Louie  to  ask  who,  nor  did  she  know 
what  instinct  again,  as  before,  bade  her  take  up  a  definite 
attitude  without  a  moment's  delay.  She  only  felt  in  her 
very  bones  that  delay  would  be  perilous,  and  that  not  the 
shade  of  an  expression  must  cross  her  face  that  was  not 
natural  and  unsurprised. 

"  Yes,  of  course ;  didn't  you  know  ?  "  she  said  quietly. 
"  Mr  Jeffries  and  Evie  Soames,  you  mean  ?  " 

Again  Kitty  made  that  painful  little  sound — d  louche 
ferm&e.  "  You  knew  ?  "  she  cried. 

A  simple  lie  would  not  have  availed  ;  this  was  so  obvious 
that  Louie  lied  deliberately,  circumstantially  and  at  length. 

"  Yes,  of  course  I  knew.  Of  course  I  did.  Do  you  mean 
to  say  you  didn't  ?  I  made  certain  you  did ;  I  was  going 
to  write  to  you.  In  about  a  fortnight,  isn't  it  ?  I'm — 
I'm  giving  them  a  wedding  present ;  it's — it's  that  piece  of 
crochet  you  saw  me  doing.  It  isn't  much,  but  these  things 
don't  go  by  value ;  it's  the  intention.  What  are  you  going 
to  give  them  ?  " 

She  almost  blushed  for  the  lameness  of  it.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  she  had  intended  that  piece  of  crochet  for  the  new 
flat,  when  she  should  take  it ;  but  to  soothe  Kitty  now 
was  of  more  importance  than  crochet  for  new  flats.  She 
watched  her  covertly,  anxiously. 

"  How  did  you  know  ?  "  Kitty  flashed  out,  again  stopping 
in  her  walk. 

"  Sit  down,  dear ;  sit  on  the  edge  of  my  bed  ;  I'm  sure 
you're  tired.  How  did  I  know  ?  Why,  I  saw  Evie  her- 


PILLAR   TO   POST  233 

self.  I  saw  her  on  a  bus  one  day  in  Tottenham  Court 
Koad.  It  was  near  the  Adam  and  Eve.  And — I  say, 
Kitty  " — dropping  her  voice  confidentially,  she  made  ,an 
appeal  to  Kitty's  hunger  for  gossip — anything  for  a  diver- 
sion— "  I  doubt  if  they'll  have  too  much  to  live  on — it  takes 
a  tidy  bit  to  get  married  on — and  I  don't  suppose  she  has 
any  shares  to  sell." 

But  Kitty  did  not  seem  to  hear.     She  flashed  out  again. 

"  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  ?  " 

"  My  dear !  I  made  sure  you'd  heard  it  from  Miriam 
Levey.  And  I  wasn't  sure  where  you  were ;  you  move 
about  so,  you  know.  I  wonder  what  Miriam  will  give 
them  !  Something  far  more  expensive  than  mine,  I  expect. 
And  you  ought  to  give  them  something  too,  Kitty.  What's 
done's  done,  you  know,  and  after  all,  lots  of  engagements 
are " 

But  once  more  Kitty  flashed  out.  "  Oh,  /  shall  give  him 
a  bottle  of  arnica,  or  whatever  it  is,  for  black  eyes  !  " 

Louie  laughed  almost  hysterically  at  the  joke.  The 
tension  was  getting  almost  too  much  for  her.  "  Oh,  come, 
he  isn't  a  wife-beater  yet !  "  she  protested. 

"  But  he  will  be,  that  man !  "  Kitty  cried  aloud  with 
frightening  vehemence.  "  He'd  do  anything — anything — 
much  he  cares  !  Did  you  know  I  got  lost  the  other  night  ? 
In  Lincolns  Inn  Fields ;  policemen  coming  up  to  me,  if  you 
please,  and  asking  me  where  I  lived  !  Much  he  cares ! 
I  believe  it  was  her  all  the  time — he  never  wanted  me  at  all, 
and  as  soon  as  Archie's  out  of  the  way  he  goes  and  marries 
her !  Miriam  Levey  herself  says  she  can't  help  thinking 
it's  funny — and  I  can't  think  what  your  game  is  either,  to 
be  going  on  as  if  it  wasn't !  I'll  tell  you  what  7  think,  if 
you  want  to  know " 

"  Hush,  hush,  hush  !  "  came  from  Louie.  She  had  her 
arms  about  Kitty.  "  Perhaps  you're  right,  dear ;  he  was 


234  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

cruel  to  you  !  And " — she  rushed  into  another  extem- 
porisation— "  I  don't  know  that  I  would  give  him  a  present, 
after  all.  If  one  can't  forgive  an  injury  one  can't,  and  it's 
no  good  pretending.  He  did  wrong  you,  and  perhaps  he 
oughtn't  to  be  let  off,  after  all.  I  won't  send  him  one 
either." 

She  said  it  because  it  was  better  to  confine  Kitty  to  her 
own  wrongs  than  to  allow  her  to  approach  a  number  of 
frightening  unknown  possibilities  that  began  with  black 
eyes.  And  apparently  she  succeeded.  Kitty  fell  back  on 
her  own  injury,  and  became  a  little  calmer. 

"  Oh,"  she  said  cunningly,  "  but  you'd  have  to  send  yours, 
and  Miriam  Levey'd  have  to  send  hers  too — then,  don't  you 
see,  I  should  be  the  only  one  who  didn't,  and  he'd  notice  it ! 
I  just  hope  he  does  notice  it.  Serve  him  right.  I  wasn't 
as  hard  up  for  a  fellow  as  all  that — I  carried  on  with  a 
fellow  at  that  breaking-up  party.  I  did — you  ask  Mr 
Mackie.  .  .  .  You  do  think  Jeff  never  intended  to  marry 
me  at  all,  don't  you,  Louie  ?  "  She  peered  curiously  at 
Louie. 

Well,  better  that,  Louie  thought.  "  I  don't  think  he 
meant  to  for  a  single  moment,"  she  replied. 

"  Oh,  the  rotter.  Come  on,  let's  send  your  present  now. 
We'll  show  him  !  .  .  ." 

She  was  quite  eager  about  it ;  but  Louie  kept  her  in  the 
bedroom  a  little  longer.  Kitty  began  to  speak  of  texts 
again.  Again  she  wondered  why  "  Come  "  was  written  in 
green  and  "  Unto  "  in  red  and  "  Me  "  in  purple,  and  why 
all  texts  had  Oxford  frames.  "  You  haven't  any,  I  see," 
she  said,  glancing  again  round  the  brown-papered  walls. 
"  You  ought  to  have  '  Remember  thy  Creator,'  you  know, 
Louie ;  it  always  reminds  you,  you  see.  What's  this  ?  " 

It  was  one  of  Billy  Izzard's  etchings.  Kitty  examined 
it  with  her  head  a  little  on  one  side. 


PILLAR    TO    POST  235 

"  It's  very  nice,  whatever  it  is,"  she  conceded ;  "  but 
where's  the  other  one  ?  I  always  think  pictures  look 
better  in  pairs.  But  you  can  get  odd  ones  cheap  some- 
times ;  Mr  Mackie  had  a  great  sale  of  Art  Engravings  one 
day  in  one  of  those  Oxford  Street  places — you  can  hear  his 
voice  right  across  the  street — and  he  said  they  were  cheap 
because  they  weren't  pairs,  but  they'd  do  splendidly  for 
the  middle  of  anywhere,  like  over  a  mantelpiece.  And 
what  a  nice  looking-glass  !  Really,  you're  quite  comfortable 
here  !  " 

She  seemed  to  have  forgotten  all  about  Mr  Jeffries 
again.  She  walked  round  Louie's  bedroom,  bestowing 
encomiums  and  preening  herself  on  her  own  pound  a 
week. 

At  midday  Buck  came,  but  Louie  did  not  join  the  party ; 
she  sent  Celeste  and  Jimmy,  and  herself  stayed  with  Kitty. 
She  hoped  Kitty  would  not  stay  long ;  she  wanted  to  lie 
down  and  think — think.  Nor  did  Kitty  stay  very  long ; 
but  before  she  went  she  returned  to  the  subject  of  the 
crochet.  She  wanted  the  article — it  was  a  teacloth — sent 
immediately ;  she  would  run  out  and  post  it  herself,  she 
said  ;  and  then,  when  he  got  presents  from  Miriam  and  Louie 
and  none  from  herself,  that  would  be  rather  a  nasty  one  for 
Mr  Jeffries  ! 

"  Do  pack  it  up.  Pll  show  him  I'm  not  to  be  trampled  on 
like  the  dirt  under  his  feet !  "  she  persisted  vindictively ; 
and  another  approach  to  the  subject  of  black  eyes  caused 
Louie  to  yield  hurriedly.  She  folded  the  cloth  and  found 
a  piece  of  brown  paper ;  Kitty  did  not  notice  that  she 
enclosed  no  message. 

But  suddenly  Louie  had  an  odd  little  hesitation.  She 
knew  it  to  be  ridiculous  and  a  sentimentality,  but  while 
she  did  not  want  to  send  a  particular  message,  she  yet  did 
not  want  to  send  the  teacloth  entirely  without  one.  The 


236  THE    STORY   OF    LOUIE 

opportunity  for  the  little  secret  luxury  would  probably 
not  occur  again.  .  .  .  Kitty  was  condescendingly  apprais- 
ing her  furniture  again  ;  on  the  mantelpiece  lay  a  piece 
of  blank  card  ;  it  seemed  to  be  there  almost  for  a  purpose, 
and  furtively  Louie  took  it.  She  scrawled  an  "  L  "  upon 
it  and  slipped  it  into  the  parcel. 

A  few  minutes  later  Kitty  left,  taking  the  wedding 
present  with  her. 

Left  at  last  alone,  Louie  once  more  went  into  her  bed- 
room and  threw  herself  on  her  bed.  She  lay  with  her 
hands  clasped  behind  her  head,  her  gaze  now  resting  on 
Billy's  etching,  now  straying  idly  over  the  brown-papered 
walls. 

So  they  were  to  be  married.    And  after  that  ? 

Well,  she  thought  that  on  the  whole  she  was  glad.  The 
curtain  was  about  to  fall  on  that  drama  that  had  begun  at 
the  Business  School  in  Holborn,  and  so  there  would  be  an 
end  of  that.  .  .  .  What  now  ?  What  about  those  fancy 
pictures  with  which  she  had  beguiled  herself  as  she  had 
ridden  on  buses  and  trams  and  worked  at  her  crochet 
during  the  rests  ?  What  about  those  half -whispered, 
nonsensical  conversations  ?  What  about  those  drowsy, 
secret  quarters  of  an  hour  out  of  which  she  had  come  with 
slight  starts  to  smile  at  herself  ?  They  were  to  be  married. 
What  next  ? 

The  answer  came  as  if  for  months  it  had  been  merely 
awaiting  her  pleasure.  It  was  as  plain  as  day  that  she 
could  now  have  as  much  of  these  as  ever  she  pleased. 
For  what  it  was  worth,  the  freedom  of  her  cuckoo-cloud- 
land  was  about  to  be  definitely  made  over  to  her.  Because 
nothing  else  was  hers,  that  was  all  the  more  hers.  .  .  . 
Kitty's  tidings  brought  it  so  sharply  home  to  her  that  she 
forgot  that  those  sweet  hours  of  licence  were  no  new  thing. 
She  forgot  that  it  was  no  new  thing  to  walk,  in  fancy,  the 


PILLAR   TO   POST  237 

woods  of  Mallard  Bois  and  the  lanes  of  Kainham  Parva 
with  him  by  her  side,  no  new  thing  to  call  his  name  down 
the  remembered  glades — "  Jim  !  "  (not,  as  others  called 
him,  "  Jeff  ").  She  forgot  that  it  was  old  and  outworn 
already ;  she  saw  in  it  only  newness  and  liberty  and  delight. 
A  Jim  of  sorts  was  now  hers,  ineluctably  and  for  ever — a 
Jim  who  did  not  fool  predestined  spinsters — a  Jim  who 
would  know  better  than  blunder  into  a  blind  and  stupid 
marriage — a  Jim  whose  relentless  hand  had  not — had  not — 
had  not 

But  here,  as  she  paused,  the  colour  that  had  made  her 
cheeks  rosy  ebbed  as  if  a  brush  loaded  with  white  had  been 
passed  over  them.  His  ruthless  hand  had — had — almost 
certainly  had 

It  was  as  if,  in  her  fancy,  a  prison  bell  had  tolled  and  a 
black  flag  had  been  run  up  in  the  morning  breeze 

He  was  certainly  a  murderer  ;  over  the  threshold  of  that 
hideous  fact  she  must  step  before  she  could  enter  her  palace 
of  insubstantial  delights.  Stained  she  must  take  even  the 
phantom  of  his  hand,  or  not  at  all.  Suppose  the  joy  were 
to  leave  her,  but  the  horror  to  remain  ? 

She  closed  her  eyes. 

But  she  opened  them  again.  She  faced  it.  Say  he  was 
— that ;  what  then  ?  The  joy  and  the  horror  were  fatally 
one.  A  man  capable  of  all — all — even  of  that — and  her 
lover  !  Oh,  the  moment  the  shudder  had  passed  the  worst 
was  over  !  He  had  killed ;  yes,  but  for  a  cause  !  He  had 
been  horribly  to  be  feared ;  yes,  but  without  the  dread  of 
him  too  she  would  not  have  had  the  whole  of  him,  and  she 
wanted  the  whole  of  him.  Not  kill,  with  such  a  reason  ? 
Withhold  death,  with  something  approaching  that  was 
worse  than  death  ?  Oh,  Louie  knew  all  about  that ;  Miss 
Cora  had  told  her.  .  .  . 

A  murder  ?     There  were  things  by  the  side  of  which  a 


238  THE    STORY    OF    LOUIE 

murder,  once  you  had  made  up  your  mind  to  it,  was  a 
trifle  ! 

Are  women  so  ?  Is  it  so  that  they  will  place  their  soft 
hands,  like  willow-leaves,  in  those  other  hands  that  may  be 
black  with  dreadful  work,  red  with  destruction,  yet,  seeing 
less  than  man  and  more  than  man,  they  care  not  ?  Is  it  so 
that  they  will  set  their  lips,  as  if  for  a  kiss,  against  the 
mouth  of  war  itself  with  its  ten  thousand  deaths  ?  It 
seems  to  be  so.  Their  loved  ones,  when  they  die,  do  not 
do  so  of  fevers  and  shattered  tissues,  but  of  their  own  clear 
and  trusted  heroism.  "  Go,"  they  say  to  the  next  one, 
even  to  the  little  Jimmy,  "  go — and  come  back  if  you  may 
— and,  though  wooden  props  keep  you  together,  you  shall  be 
beautiful  to  the  mother  who  bore  you — to  the  wife  whose 
task  it  must  be  to  take  you  to  pieces  and  put  you  together 
again — to  the  woman  who,  because  of  her  own  heavenly 
dreaming,  cannot  think  of  the  fiend  you  were  in  that  hour 
when  the  call  sounded  and  you  dropped  the  point  of  your 
lance  to  the  charge." 

But  one  thing  was  clear :  her  dreams  must  remain 
dreams.  If  she  would  keep  what  was  left  her,  she  must 
never,  never,  never  see  him  now  ! 


PART  FIVE 
THE  CONSOLIDATION 


THE  habit  of  sitting  for  artists  leaves  its  mark  on  a  woman. 
This  mark  is  the  lack  of  mystery — the  "looked  at"  appear- 
ance. But  it  has  its  compensations.  Chief  of  these  are 
a  physical  unconsciousness,  an  absence  of  coquetry,  and 
a  liberation  of  the  mind  so  complete  that  a  sudden  recall 
has  all  the  effects  of  shock.  Thus,  a  model  posing  for  a 
whole  class  of  men  has  been  known  to  faint  because  she 
has  been  seen  through  the  skylight  by  a  "  man "  who 
mended  the  roof. 

In  some  such  state  of  liberation  Louie,  on  an  afternoon 
late  in  the  June  of  1900,  posed  for  Billy  Izzard.  It  was 
in  Billy's  new  studio,  a  large  upper  room  in  Camden  Town, 
opposite  the  Cobden  Statue.  The  place  was  so  light  that 
Billy  had  actually  had  to  cut  some  of  the  light  off.  The 
upper  part  of  the  far  window,  that  towards  which  Louie's 
face  was  turned,  was  darkened  by  a  linen  blind  ;  the  lower 
part  of  it  was  shrouded  with  tissue  paper.  The  whole 
corner  was  enclosed  by  a  screen.  It  was  there  that  Billy 
did  his  etching.  Behind  another  screen  was  Billy's  bed. 
At  present  Louie's  clothes  lay  on  it. 

It  was  half -past  five,  but  the  best  light  of  a  changeable 
day.  They  had  had  tea ;  the  tray  with  the  tea-things  lay 
on  the  floor ;  and,  except  that  he  grunted  occasionally, 
"  Raise  your  hand  a  bit,"  or  "  Head  a  bit  more  round," 
Billy's  absorption  in  his  work  was  complete.  He  had  even 
worked  through  the  short  rests.  During  these  intervals 
Louie  had  crocheted.  The  crochet,  only  a  little  whiter 
than  the  foot  near  it,  lay  on  the  throne  now. 
Q  241 


242  THE    STORY    OF   LOUIE 

Louie  was  not  thinking  ;  you  can  hardly  call  it  thought 
when  any  trifle  on  which  your  eyes  rest  gives  your  mind  its 
cue.  Louie's  eyes,  the  only  parts  of  her  that  moved,  had 
rested  on  the  crochet,  and  that  had  brought  Celeste  into 
her  mind.  Celeste  was  leaving  her  ;  it  had  something  to  do 
with  phylloxera  and  a  brother's  vines ;  Celeste,  between 
two  loves,  must  leave  the  boy  and  return  to  Provence. 
Then  Louie's  eyes  fell  on  the  chair  in  which  Billy  etched, 
and  presently  Kitty  occupied  her — Kitty,  who  liked  her 
etchings  in  pairs,  but  surmised  that  odd  ones  came  cheaper. 
Louie  had  really  no  choice  but  to  do  what  she  was  going  to 
do  about  Kitty.  Jimmy  must  have  somebody  during  the 
day,  and  Louie,  moreover,  must  have  ten  shillings  a  week 
from  somewhere.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Kitty  had  agreed  to 
pay  her  fifteen  shillings,  and,  in  the  intervals  of  looking 
after  Jimmy,  proposed  to  type.  Then,  as  her  eyes  moved 
to  the  screen  round  the  bed,  she  remembered  that  her  boots 
must  be  resoled.  They  would  carry  another  sole,  and  it 
had  been  raining  off  and  on  during  the  greater  part  of  the 
day.  And  then  something  else  brought  little  Jimmy  into 
her  mind  again. 

For  a  wonder,  she  had  not  thought  of  a  bigger  Jimmy  all 
the  afternoon.  But  on  other  afternoons  she  had.  Billy 
sometimes  remarked  on  a  passing  tender  colour ;  she 
always  had  to  restrain  a  smile  at  that.  Her  tender  colour  ? 
There  was  not  a -particle  of  that  looked-at  superficies  of 
hers  that,  often  and  often,  did  not  answer  to  a  secret 
thought.  .  .  .  Perhaps  Billy,  plain  common-sense  man, 
could  have  told  her  what  those  secret  thoughts  really 
meant.  Perhaps  Billy,  sensitive  painter,  could  have  told 
her  how  sweet  and  pale  and  charming  things  must  shun 
comparison  with  the  robuster  stuff.  As,  in  some  delicate 
pastoral  or  fete  galante,  art  might  turn  its  happy  eyes 
inward  on  itself,  so  that  the  putting  on  of  a  slipper  and  the 


THE   CONSOLIDATION  243 

nymph's  hand  trembling  in  a  silken  fold  and  the  promised 
favour  of  a  smiling  look  hardly  die  because  they  hardly  live, 
so  Louie  too  turned  her  eyes  inwards.  What  she  found 
within  herself  still  sufficed  her. 

"  Better  rest  a  bit,"  said  Billy,  looking  up  as  he  began 
to  scrub  in  a  background. 

Louie  stepped  down  from  the  throne,  cast  a  wrap  about 
her  shoulders,  and  began  to  crochet  again. 

Again  she  hoped  she  was  not  doing  an  unwise  thing  in 
having  Kitty  to  come  and  live  with  her.  But  the  flat  was 
at  last  taken.  It  was  a  top  one  in  the  New  King's  Koad. 
A  Board  School  now  blocks  out  the  pretty  view  that  Louie 
presently  had  at  night,  of  the  distant  cupful  of  light  that 
was  Earls  Court,  with  the  illuminated  advertisement  of 
the  Big  Wheel  appearing  and  disappearing  as  the  structure 
slowly  turned.  Well,  Kitty's  fifteen  shillings  would  pay 
the  rent,  and  the  experiment  would  be  a  good  thing  for 
Kitty  also.  Louie  had  furniture  enough — in  fact,  it  would 
be  a  very  good  thing — all  round. 

"  Come  along — time,"  Billy  grunted.  "  And  I  say,  can 
you  stop  a  bit  later  to-night  ?  I've  got  to  go  out,  but  if  I 
don't  finish  this  thing  to-day  I  never  shall " 

Louie  mounted  the  throne  again,  and  again  the  silence 
was  broken  only  by  Billy's  stepping  back  from  his  canvas 
and  forward  again. 

The  light  began  to  fail,  and  Billy  began  to  work  the  more 
furiously.  "  Give  me  just  another  ten  minutes,"  he 
muttered,  a  brush  between  his  teeth ;  "  this'll  make  some 
of  'em  sit  up,  I  think ;  it's  painting,  this  is  !  ...  But  I 
don't  know,  perhaps  I'd  better  let  it  go  as  it  is ;  it's  a  job, 
anyway.  All  right,  Louie,  thanks.  .  .  .  Right-o,  Jeffries ; 
I  didn't  think  it  was  so  late." 

The  last  words  were  spoken  to  the  man  who  had  knocked 
at  the  door  and,  without  waiting  for  a  reply,  walked  in. 


244  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

Louie  had  heard  the  steps  on  the  stairs ;  perhaps — she 
could  not  tell — she  had  already  thought  it  unusual  that  the 
steps  had  not  stopped  at  the  water-tap  on  the  landing 
below  that  was  the  supply  for  the  two  upper  floors.  Billy 
used  that  tap  when  he  washed  his  brushes  ;  he  was  looking 
for  his  palette-knife  now. 

But  Louie  neither  saw  Billy  nor  heard  Ms  grumblings 
because  the  knife  was  not  to  hand.  She  was  looking  past 
Billy,  past  the  easel  with  the  study  upon  it,  at  the  man  who 
had  entered.  For  one  moment  she  was  wondering  that 
she  had  not  always  known,  not  only  that  he  would  come 
some  day,  but  that  he  would  come  that  day ;  the  next 
moment  she  had  told  herself  that  she  had  always  known 
that. 

Of  her  whole  body,  from  the  foot  near  the  crochet  to  the 
last  brown  hair  of  her  head,  her  lips  were  the  only  portion 
that  did  not  receive  him  with  a  lightsome,  quiet,  fair, 
trusting  smile. 

Absurd  ever  to  have  supposed  that  they  would  never 
meet !  Wise  to  have  known  so  perfectly  what  would 
happen  when  they  did ! 

What  had  happened  ?  Oh,  every  particle  of  her  seemed 
to  sing  to  every  other  particle  what  had  happened  !  Those 
pittings  of  her  profession  ?  Oh,  there  they  went,  washed 
out,  all  out,  in  the  baptism  of  a  look  !  Her  fancies — those 
idle  promises  to  pay  drawn  on  a  non-existent  bank  ? 
Oh,  they  had  gone,  and  here  was  payment  itself,  the  solid, 
actual  cash  !  She  was  suddenly  rich.  As  she  stood  there, 
rich  in  seeing  him,  rich  in  being  seen  by  him,  every  one 
of  those  worthless  bills  was  honoured  in  full.  She  could 
have  laughed  at  her  past  poverty.  She  could  have  cried 
aloud :  "  Jim,  I'm  here — look  at  me — no,  not  my  eyes 
only " 

And  he  too  seemed  to  be  as  she  had  always  known  he 


THE   CONSOLIDATION  245 

would  be — singled  out,  down  to  his  very  manner  of  wearing 
his  clothes — among  men.  Stupid,  that  of  all  those  times 
she  had  thought  of  him  she  had  never  once  thought  of 
him  as  in  evening-dress  !  But  that,  in  all  this  perfection, 
was  only  one  more  reciprocated  perfection  :  she  so — he 

"  Oh,  Jim — not  my  eyes  only ! "  she  well-nigh  cried  again. 

But  the  lion's  eyes  never  moved  from  her  own  grey  ones. 

"  Right,  Louie,  I've  finished,"  said  Billy,  looking  up 
from  his  palette-scraping. 

And  within  herself  she  wailed  :  "  Oh,  so  soon  ?  Must  it 
be  over  already  ?  Must  I  sit  for  men  all  these  days,  and 

then,  when  my  man  comes ?  Oh,  a  moment !  .  .  .  Well, 

he  shall  see  me  move — and  I  won't  look  at  him — I'll  tell 
myself — oh,  just  one  more  fancy  ! — that  he  isn't  here." 

She  descended  from  the  throne  and  passed  behind  the 
screen. 

Was  it  strange  that  already,  as  she  dressed  in  Billy's 
studio,  she  knew  that  she  would  never  dress  in  an  artist's 
studio  again,  and  made  of  her  fastening  of  hooks  and 
strings  a  grave  little  ceremonial  ? — (There  !  With  that 
fastening  yet  another  chapter  was  closed  ;  oh,  trust  her, 
there  should  be  no  reopening  of  it !) — Or  that  she  should 
have  a  little  shiver,  at  the  thought  that  he  might  not  have 
come  ?  Suppose  he  had  knocked  at  the  door,  and  Billy 
had  cried  :  "  Half-a-moment — slide,  Louie — come  in  !  " 
Suppose — but  the  tremor  passed.  She  had  always  known 
he  would  come ;  she  had  known  it  just  as  she  had  known 
everything  else  about  him.  Again  every  fibre  of  her  was 
joyous.  She  was  here  on  the  earth — she,  Louie  Causton, 
daughter  of  a  pugilist  and  of  a  Scarisbrick,  gardener, 
typist,  artists'  model,  and  all  else  she  might  ever  be — that 
she  might  know  all  about  this  man.  To  have  ever  doubted 
it  would  have  been  not  to  deserve  him.  And  here  he  was, 


246  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

in  the  same  room  with  her — he,  beyond  the  screen,  she 
behind  it — only  the  two  of  them,  for  Billy  had  gone  down 
to  the  tap  to  wash  his  brushes. 

Now  what  should  she  do  ? 

No,  she  would  not  go  out  and  join  him  ;  not  as  she  now 
was ;  not  a  skirt  and  blouse,  after  that  fairness.  Nor  yet 
would  she  speak.  Surely  it  was  for  him  to  speak  now  ! 
She  had  been  speaking  to  him,  singing  to  him,  all  music  to 
his  eyes  ;  there  does  come  a  point  (she  told  herself)  when 
the  woman  ceases  to  do  everything ;  he  must  speak  now. 
She  knew  he  would  speak.  So  she  stood,  upright,  close 
to  the  screen,  waiting. 

He  did  speak,  and  like  smoke  another  flock  of  fancies 
fled  for  ever.  They  were  the  fancies  in  which  she  had 
tried  to  remember  his  voice.  It  came,  henceforward  un- 
forgettable, pure  rest  after  her  strivings.  He  too  seemed 
to  be  near  the  screen  ;  only  a  screen  between  them ;  but 
the  phrases  that  were  breaking  their  long  silence  were 
merely  automatic.  He  was  saying  something  about  seeing 
her  presently  ;  she  heard  him  pronounce  the  word  "  Picca- 
dilly," and  the  most  familiar  image  of  Piccadilly  sprang  up 
in  her  mind.  "  Swan  and  Edgar's,"  she  was  whispering 
back  over  the  screen. 

"  No,  no."     This  came  quickly,  protestingly. 

"  At  half-past  ten,"  she  whispered. 

"  Yes." 

Then  the  dialogue  was  at  an  end.  Billy  had  returned. 
Some  moments  later  she  heard  more  words,  a  laugh, 
and  the  closing  of  a  door.  She  realised  that  he  had 
gone. 

Only  then  did  she  come  out  from  behind  the  screen. 

Billy  was  wriggling  into  his  overcoat  and  muttering 
something  about  being  late.  "  Got  to  go  and  keep  that 
chap's  wife  company,"  he  said.  "  Regular  little  Philistine, 


THE   CONSOLIDATION  247 

she  is ;  I  suppose  that's  why  I  go ;  can't  stand  these 
blessed  artists.  I  say,  he'd  no  idea  I'd  a  model,  you 
know — sorry." 

"  All  right,  Billy,"  said  Louie  demurely.  ..."  Sorry  !  " 
So  was  not  she  ! 

"  And  I  say,  I'm  afraid  I  shall  have  to  pay  you  next 
time.  I'm  cleaned  out." 

"  It  doesn't  matter.  Send  me  a  steak  in  as  you  go  out ; 
I'll  have  my  dinner  here." 

"  Right.  Odd-looking  chap  that,  isn't  he  ?  A  good 
sort  though.  I  picked  him  up  at  the  Langham  one  night. 
I  took  this  place  from  him  when  he  got  married." 

"  He  lived  here  ?  "     (What,  another  wonder  ?) 

"Yes.  Well,  I'll  send  your  steak  in.  Good-bye." 
Billy  bolted. 

He  had  lived  there  too  !  How  ex — how  entirely  to 
have  been  expected !  Louie  walked  round  the  room, 
looking  at  the  walls,  the  ceiling,  out  of  the  windows,  anew. 
He  had  lived  there :  read,  eaten,  slept  there ;  what  a 
coinci — what  a  perfectly  natural  circumstance  !  Then, 
leaning  against  the  wall,  she  found  Billy's  study.  Her 
eyes  devoured  it.  She  set  it  against  the  throne,  and  then 
walked  to  where  he  had  stood  when  he  had  entered.  She 
gave  a  rich,  low  laugh  ;  she  told  herself  what  a  fool  she  was  ; 
but  folly  so  lovely  made  life.  Again  she  looked  at  the  wet 
painting.  She  had  looked  so  to  him 

She  put  the  study  back  against  the  wall,  but  in  another 
place.  "  That  study's  mine,  Billy,"  she  muttered  ;  "  mine, 
not  yours  or  anybody  else's,  do  you  understand  ?  You 
gave  him  my  violets ;  he's  welcome  to  them ;  this  belongs 
to  me.  Jim  !  Jim  !  "  she  murmured. 

"Well,  I  suppose  it's  crochet  now,"  she  went  on  by-and- 
by.  "  Do  you  realise,  Louie  Causton,  that  you've  sat 
your  last  ?  And  have  you  any  idea  of  what  you're  going 


248  THE    STORY   OF    LOUIE 

to  do  instead  ?     It  looks  as  though  Kitty's  fifteen  shillings 
would  come  in  useful  after  all." 

As  if  otherwise  she  might  have  forgotten  it,  she  repeated 
to  herself,  over  and  over  again,  that  she  was  to  meet  him 
at  Swan  and  Edgar's  at  half-past  ten.  At  one  of  the 
repetitions — it  was  as  she  was  cooking  her  steak  over  the 
little  gas-ring  that,  perhaps,  had  once  been  his — it  occurred 
to  her  why  he  had  muttered  that  quick  "  No,  no  "  when  she 
had  proposed  that  meeting-place.  She  glowed,  she  laughed 
through  a  sheen  of  tender  tears.  "  Dear,  dear  one  !  You 
don't  think  that  corner  good  enough  for  us,  my  sweet  little 
outcast  and  me.  Well,  we  won't  thank  you;  we  won't 
belittle  him  by  thanking  him,  will  we,  Jimmy  ? " 

But  she  did  not  promise  not  to  look  her  thanks  when  she 
met  him  at  Swan  and  Edgar's  at  half -past  ten. 

Presently  she  pushed  her  plate  away ;  she  could  not  eat. 
She  had  felt  her  bosom  rise  once  more.  It  had  risen  as  it 
had  never  risen  for  anything  or  anybody  save  for  the  little 
Jimmy,  and  it  rose,  it  seemed  to  her,  for  a  similar  reason. 
For  in  her  hands  even  his  physical  safety  lay.  He  was  to 
be  mothered  too.  Her  unfelt  arms  were  to  be  about  him, 
the  milk  of  her  protection  to  be  his  life.  By  his  strength 
he  had  thought  to  give  himself  to  somebody  else,  but  by 
his  need  he  was  still  hers.  A  gladness  richer  than  she 
had  ever,  ever  known  swelled  within  her.  He,  the 
great  weakling — she,  the  strong  one,  to  cherish  and 
support 

"  Jim  !  "  she  murmured,  smiling,  uplifted,  lost.  It  was 
as  if  his  weary,  tawny  head  was  on  her  breast. 

And  she  was  going  to  hear  his  voice  again,  at  Swan  and 
Edgar's,  at  half -past  ten. 

She  feared  that  her  own  emotion  might  have  exhausted 
her  ere  ever  the  hour  came. 


THE    CONSOLIDATION  249 

II 

"  YOUR  hat  will  be  spoiled  if  you  don't  take  your  share 
of  the  umbrella,"  she  said.  It  was  a  silk  hat,  and  she 
supposed  that  silk  hats  cost  money.  A  fine,  persistent  rain 
was  falling. 

She  thought  that  he  answered  that  it  didn't  matter. 

"  Then  you  might  at  least  turn  your  trousers  up." 
Her  own  shabby  old  grey  coat  didn't  matter,  but  his 
trousers 

He  seemed  to  be  on  the  point  of  replying  that  they  didn't 
matter  either,  but  changed  his  mind.  He  stooped  and 
turned  them  up.  She  held  the  umbrella  while  he  did  so, 
and  then  gave  it  to  him  again,  replacing  her  right  hand 
where  it  had  been — on  his  left  forearm. 

It  was  on  these  mere  externals  of  him — his  hat,  his  coat, 
his  trousers,  his  boots — that  she  had  hardly  for  a  moment 
ceased  to  feed  her  eyes.  Anything  else  might  wait ;  for 
the  present  the  stuff  of  his  sleeve  was  more  to  her  than  the 
stuff  of  his  soul.  She  luxuriated  shamelessly  in  the  smallest 
actualities  of  his  presence ;  why,  even  mirth  stood  but  a 
remove  away.  His  overcoat,  for  example  :  it  was  not  that 
old  tawny  one  that  had  made  him  so  much  like  a  lion,  but 
it  was  an  old  one  for  all  that ;  was  she  never  to  see  her  man 
in  a  new  overcoat  ?  Jim  and  his  overcoats  !  But  the  rest 
of  him  was  beyond  criticism.  Certainly  he  must  be  making 
money.  She  wished  she  could  have  called  money  to  him 
with  a  wand,  conjured  it  to  him,  as  much  as  ever  he  wanted. 
Had  it  not  been  that  she  would  have  had  to  take  her  hand 
from  his  sleeve,  she  would  have  liked  to  step  back  to  look 
at  his  great  church-door  of  a  back  again.  Of  his  face  she 
could  see  little,  but  that  did  not  prevent  her  looking  until 
it  would  hardly  have  surprised  her  had  he  flushed  and  said, 


250  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

"  Don't  gloat  over  me  like  that."  His  hat  was  tilted  down, 
the  large  peaks  of  his  overcoat  collar  projected  like  wings. 

No,  she  did  not  want  to  know  what  he  thought  or  felt ; 
bother  all  that  part  of  him  !  When  her  thirsty  senses  had 
drunk  their  full,  then  would  be  time  enough  for  the  other 
things. 

They  were  walking  somewhere  behind  the  Horse  Guards. 
Stretching  before  them  was  the  long,  empty  avenue  of  the 
Mall.  She  was  looking  at  the  perspective  of  lamps  and 
trees  and  drizzle,  when  suddenly  he  spoke.  Instantly  all 
her  faculties  seemed  to  become  one  overgrown  faculty,  that 
of  hearing.  Not  that  he  was  saying  anything ;  he  was,  as 
a  matter  of  fact,  only  asking  her  whether  she  was  warm  ; 
and  she  replied,  "Quite."  She  was  almost  amused  that 
he  should  ask.  His  nearness  warmed  her  more  than  did 
her  garments.  Her  hand  thrilled  deliciously  on  his  sleeve 
again.  .  .  . 

Oh,  the  satisfaction  of  that,  just  that,  after  all  her  past 
inquisitions  into  his  soul ! 

But  come  to  speech  they  must,  and  that  very  soon  ;  and 
perhaps  that  curious  magnification  of  trifles  made  it  easier. 
Indeed,  half  the  formidableness  of  the  single  question  she 
wanted  to  ask  him  had  vanished  already.  To  say  to  him, 
now  or  in  a  few  moments :  "  Did  you  kill  Archie  Merri- 
dew  ?  "  seemed  somehow  not  very  much  more  unusual 
than  asking  him  the  time.  Now  that  she  came  to  think  of 
it,  even  that  question  seemed  less  important  than  another 
one :  "  Can  you  kill  somebody  and  still  be  happy  ?  "  She 
hoped  in  her  heart  that  he  could.  It  would  be  his  justifica- 
tion. Had  it  been  an  unrighteous  killing,  that  would  have 
been  another  matter ;  as  it  was,  she  would  have  had  him 
unhappy  only  had  he  not  killed.  And,  as  he  showed  no 
sign  of  breaking  silence,  she  might  as  well  ask  him  that 
now. 


THE    CONSOLIDATION  251 

So,  reluctantly  turning  her  eyes  from  his  face  and  looking 
ahead  into  the  haze  of  the  rain,  she  suddenly  said :  "  Are 
you  happy  ?  " 

She  wasn't  surprised  that  he  didn't  reply  at  once.  Of 
course  men  didn't.  They  had  their  usual  formalities  to 
go  through,  of  "  Why  do  you  ask  ?  "  and  so  forth — a  sort 
of  routine  before  they  could  answer  a  plain  question.  As 
he  began  to  go  through  it  now  she  made  a  little  impatient 
movement.  She  didn't  want  all  that.  Then  he  deigned 
to  reply  .to  her  inferior  intelligence.  Yes,  he  was  happy. 

"  You  are  ?  "  she  said,  with  an  exultant  little  leap. 

Yes,  he  was ;  but  again,  apparently,  he  couldn't  say  a 
thing  and  leave  it.  In  the  middle  of  more  stupid,  logical, 
masculine  things  (he  seemed  to  be  qualifying  his  statement 
with  something  or  other  about  his  conduct  to  Kitty  Windus) 
she  cut  him  short. 

"  Tell  me,"  she  said,  repeating  the  little  impatient 
gesture,  "  you  killed  that  boy,  didn't  you  ?  " 

They  had  been  following  the  railings  that  divide  the 
Mall  from  St  James's  Park,  but  she  had  stopped  to  ask  her 
question.  And  she  was  looking  full  at  him  now.  But  she 
could  not  see  him  very  well ;  a  lamp  and  a  plane-tree  made 
all  an  obscurity  of  vague  shadows  and  wet  reflections. 
But  then  he  stepped  slowly  back,  taking  her  umbrella  with 
him,  and  twice,  as  he  held  the  umbrella  unsteadily,  the 
light  came  and  went  on  his  cheek  and  chin  ;  and  then,  as  he 
took  a  step  farther  back  still,  the  umbrella  bobbed  on  the 
railings,  from  the  points  of  it  came  little  bright  slivers  of 
drops,  and  she  found  herself  searching  under  a  lamplit 
sector  of  alpaca  for  his  eyes. 

The  danger  of  asking,  actually,  a  question  you  have 
asked,  but  not  actually,  a  hundred  times  before,  is  that 
your  own  mere  familiarity  with  it  throws  you  out  in  your 
calculation.  Now  she  found  herself  suddenly  hoping  that 


252  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

what  she  felt  to  be  working  beyond  the  umbrella  edge — for 
she  felt  it  rather  than  saw  it — was  not  fear. 

For,  of  course,  she  had  miscalculated  a  little — had  been 
stupid  to  think  that  it  was  all  as  old  a  story  to  him  as  it 
was  to  her.  Obviously  it  would  not  at  once  occur  to  him 
that  there  had  been  nothing  to  find  out,  but  that  instead 
the  whole  thing  had  been  merely  enacted  before  her  eyes ; 
he  was  sure  to  be  thinking  that  on  some  point  of  evidence 
he  had  been  betrayed.  What  sort  of  point  that  could  be, 
unless  it  had  something  to  do  with  the  black  eyes  that 
seemed  to  haunt  Kitty,  he  might  know,  but  she  could  not 
guess  ;  and  all  at  once  she  had  a  purely  physical  shrinking. 
She  would  rather  not  know.  She  could  string  herself  up 
to  the  thought  of  murder,  but  the  bestial  details — no,  not 
those.  Those  were  his  affair.  They  were  to  be  taken  for 
granted  as  things  necessarily  involved.  And  already  she 
was  on  the  point  of  feeling  herself  a  little  disappointed  in 
him.  For  in  the  shadow  of  the  umbrella  her  eyes  had  now 
found  his ;  his  head  was  a  little  turned,  and  she  saw  the 
whites  of  them. 

It  was  fear.  She,  it  seemed,  could  contemplate  unafraid 
a  sacrifice  that  he  quaked  to  have  carried  out. 

But  as,  with  another  little  falling  of  drops  from  the 
umbrella,  he  steadied  himself  and  stepped  forward  from 
the  railings  again,  additional  light  came  to  her.  It  was 
fear,  but  not  that  fear,  that  haunted  the  amber  eyes.  The 
fear  was  of  herself.  He  feared,  not  the  information  she 
possessed,  but  her  whole  understanding  and  condemna- 
tion. He  feared  lest  she  also  should  say :  "  It  was  murder  ; 
you  are  here  to  be  judged ;  me  too,  with  all  the  world, 
you  must  account  against  you ;  I  set  my  mark  too  upon  your 
brow." 

And  as  he  appeared  sorrowfully  to  acquiesce  in  that  also, 
nothing  could  have  seemed  lonelier  nor  more  touching  than 


THE   CONSOLIDATION  253 

the  quietly  spoken  words  with  which  he  held  the  umbrella 
over  her  again  : 

"  You're  getting  wet." 

It  was  as  though  he  told  her  that  though  he  went  out- 
cast she  must  not  get  wet. 

Her  answer  was  to  put  her  hand  under  his  sleeve  again. 
They  walked  on. 

But  he  had  not  answered  her  question.  Perhaps  he 
thought  he  had :  to  all  intents  and  purposes  he  had ;  but 
she  wanted,  not  so  much  the  word,  as  that  he  should  not 
withhold  the  word.  He  was  walking  slowly,  heavily, 
like  a  tower  by  her  side ;  she  had  the  sense  of  his  fearful 
overweight ;  she  would  give  him  time.  They  continued  to 
walk,  their  mingled  shadow  on  the  pavement  as  they  passed 
each  lamp  creeping  away  before  them  as  if  the  beam  of 
some  lighthouse  had  had  the  sinister  property  of  obscurity. 

Then,  within  a  little  distance  of  Buckingham  Palace, 
she  stopped  again.  Again  their  eyes  met  under  the  wet, 
black  mushroom  of  the  umbrella. 

"  You  did  kill  that  boy,  didn't  you  ?  " 

He  had  a  slight  start.  It  seemed  to  her  that  he  even 
apologised  for  having  kept  her  waiting  for  the  answer. 
Formerly  she  had  seen  stratagems  in  his  eyes  ;  now,  as 
he  dipped  the  umbrella  for  a  moment  and  stood  full  in  the 
light  of  another  lamp,  she  looked  only  into  grave,  candid 
depths. 

"  Yes,"  he  said.     "  You  know  I  killed  him." 
"  Ah  ! " 

Again  her  hand  slid,  as  if  of  itself,  back  into  its  place. 
Again  they  walked  on.  The  next  thing  that  came  to  her 
was  another  ridiculous  yet  oddly  precious  trifle.  She  wore 
kid  gloves  ;  before,  when  she  had  danced  with  him  in  an  old 
frock  of  oyster -grey,  she  had  worn  white  ones ;  must  she 
(she  wondered)  always  wear  gloves  with  him,  as  he  always 


254  THE    STORY   OF    LOUIE 

wore  old  overcoats  ?  She  longed  to  take  one  glove  ofl ; 
yet  she — she,  who  had  met  Roy  by  the  stile  at  night — for 
very  bashf  ulness  dared  not.  The  circumstance  struck  her  ; 
how  was  that  ?  Gifts  of  understanding  for  her  he  had ; 
had  he  that  gift  too,  the  gift  of  her  own  bashfulness  back 
again  ?  Up  went  her  spirit  on  wings.  .  .  . 

Yes,  it  was  that — or  for  a  night  at  least  she  would  have 
it  so.  As  impossibilities  are  reconciled  in  a  dream,  so  he 
seemed,  by  his  mere  towerlike  presence,  to  resolve  in  one 
large  atonement,  her  own  life  as  it  had  been  and  the  sweet 
and  virginal  and  dear  smiling  thing  that  it  might  have 
been.  In  no  less  a  miracle  than  that  she  seemed  to  herself 
to  be  walking.  He  could  not  only  have  kissed  her ;  he 
could  have  had  her  first  kiss.  He  could  not  only  have 
turned,  as  he  did  turn,  leaning  against  the  pillar-box  by  the 
Equerries'  entrance  of  the  Palace,  to  look  at  her  again,  but 
he  could  have  received  in  return — did  receive  in  return — 
such  a  look  as  she  knew  he  also  could  hardly  have  had  the 
like  of  before.  And  it  made  no  difference — as  in  a  dream 
such  a  thing  might  make  no  difference — that  he  had  a 
wife,  she  a  son.  Let  him  have  his  wife,  she  her  son ;  she 
could  find  room  for  wives  and  sons  too.  To-morrow, 
perhaps,  it  would  not  be  so ;  to-morrow  might  be  like 
yesterday  again ;  but  to-night — to-night — oh,  the  first 
garden  was  not  less  trodden  than  these  rainy  streets,  the 
Barracks,  Gorringes',  and  Grosvenor  Road !  Her  hand 
moving  again  on  his  sleeve  was  telling  him  even  now,  if  he 
would  but  listen,  that  though  man  may  not  know  that  it  is 
not  good  for  him  to  be  alone,  woman  knows  it,  and  maybe 
still  remembers  it  out  of  her  knowledge  of  the  place  whence 
she  came  later  than  he. 

And  he  too  understood  now,  for  she  was  not  so  rapt  but 
that  she  remembered  that  he  asked  her,  somewhere  between 
a  sandbin  and  a  street  lamp,  whether  she  was  happy  too, 


THE    CONSOLIDATION  255 

and  that,  looking  up  at  him,  she  smilingly  whispered : 
"  Yes,  now."  And  she  was  not  so  rapt  but  that  she  remem- 
bered telling  him,  flatly  and  with  another  happy  and  laugh- 
ing and  triumphant  look :  "  You  can't  prevent  it !  " 
But  she  was  so  rapt  that  of  much  else  that  he  and  she  said 
she  had  no  very  clear  recollection.  Words  that  seemed 
unforgettable  when  they  came  had  eluded  her  almost  in 
their  own  echo.  But  she  knew  that  she  gave  him  the 
liberty  of  herself  with  no  more  reserve  than  she  had  claimed 
that  of  him.  She  knew  that  because,  later,  but  she  did 
not  know  when,  he  muttered,  in  some  street  or  other,  she 
did  not  know  where  :  "  God  bless  your  boy." 

Well,  if  she  forgot  things  now,  there  would  be  many  days 
to  come  in  which  she  would  remember  them. 

Merely  because  it  must  be  very  late — she  had  no  idea 
what  time  it  was — she  grudged  the  going  of  the  moments 
almost  angrily.  Already  she  was  becoming  as  hungry 
again  as  if  she  had  not  broken  that  long,  long  fast.  But  she 
admitted  that  it  was  not  unnatural  that  he  should  think  of 
his  own  concerns  a  little  too,  and  want  to  ask  her  questions. 
She  began  to  answer  the  questions  hurriedly,  to  get  them 
over. — Kitty  Windus  ?  Oh  (she  told  him)  he  might  leave 
Kitty  to  her ;  she'd  answer  for  Kitty ! — His  wife  and  her 
complete  ignorance  ?  (His  wife's  ignorance  appeared  to  be 
complete.) — Miriam  Levey  ?  (Oh,  why  would  he  not  be 
quick,  and  she  so  hungry !) — And  then  back  to  his  wife 
again ;  what  about  her  ?  (he  wanted  to  know).  Louie 
wondered  a  little  that  he  should  consider  her  to  be  his 
wife's  keeper  also,  but  she  answered  his  questions.  That, 
she  told  him,  was  his  private  affair  ;  but,  if  he  really  wanted 
to  know  what  Louie  thought  about  it,  Louie  could  not 
conceive  of  a  marriage  with  so  huge  a  secret  in  it  continuing 
undisclosed.  Voilh  ;  there  he  had  it ;  and  now  might  she 
please  be  permitted  to  enter  into  her  own  happiness  again  ? 


256  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

She  was  back  into  it,  bathing  in  it  again,  almost  before 
she  was  aware.  A  minute  before  she  had  not  known  what 
street  they  were  in  ;  now  she  saw  the  Chelsea  Hospital  on 
the  other  side  of  the  road.  On  this  side  was  a  row  of  houses  ; 
she  knew  one  of  them ;  a  painter  for  whom  she  had  sat 
lived  there  ;  his  studio  was  in  the  yard  at  the  back. 

The  thought  of  a  studio  was  all  that  was  needed.  She 
thrilled  again. 

No  more  studios  !    So  poignantly  did  she  burn  that  she 
could  hardly  imagine  that  her  glowing  did  not  communicate 
itself.    Studios,  after  that  beautiful,  beautiful  sketch  of 
Billy's  ?     Good  gracious,  no  !     She  was  going  to  Billy's 
to  fetch  that  sketch  on  the  morrow  ;  she  would  like  to  see 
Billy  deny  it  to  her  !     And  that  poor,  poor  old  oyster- 
grey  !    Just  because  he  had  seen  her  in  it  once  she  had 
mooned  over  it,  smiled  over  it,  sighed  over  it ;  but  it  could 
go  now — she  had  a  richer  memory  !  .  .  .  Furtively  during 
the  last  few  minutes  she  had  been  working  off  her  right 
glove ;  it  slipped  from  her  hand  to  the  pavement ;  but 
she  was  afraid  to  stop.    Let  it  stay  ;  somebody  would  turn 
it  over  with  the  point  of  a  walking-stick  in  the  morning  and 
perhaps  wonder  who  had  lost  it.  ...  She  stole  another 
look  at  him  ;  her  hand  crept  along  his  sleeve  ;  the  tips  of  her 
fingers  were  on  his  wrist ;  her  lips  shaped  his  name :  "  Jim ! " 
Then,  unexpectedly,  it  rushed  upon  her  in  full  measure. 
She  knew  these  streets  familiarly  ;  they  were  in  Swan  Walk 
now ;  and  the  thing  happened  all  in  a  moment.     Again, 
during  those  anxious  questions  of  his  about  Kitty  Windus, 
Miriam  Levey,  his  wife,  she  had  had  that  sense  of  his 
terrible  overweight :  now,  passing  a  doorway,  he  suddenly 
reeled.    He  began  to  sink.  .  .  . 

In  an  instant  her  arms  were  about  him.  Not  the  unfelt, 
immaterial  arms  of  her  mothering  vision  in  Billy's  studio, 
not  that  other  breast,  offered  but  unpressed,  sustained 


THE   CONSOLIDATION  257 

him  ;  site  held  him  within  her  two  arms  of  flesh  and  blood, 
upon  that  firm,  warm  bosom  that  changed  its  shape  to  his 
weight  upon  it — the  bosom  he  had  seen  yesterday,  white 
hives,  all  their  honey  his.  .  .  .  She  bent  and  kissed  the 
shoulder  of  his  coat.  Oh,  if  he  might  but  faint,  quite,  that 
she  might  carry  him  somewhere,  or,  if  she  could  not  carry 
him,  stay  with  him  where  he  was — she  cared  not — rest  by 
his  side  through  an  endless  night !  Her  heart,  yes,  her 
lips  too,  called  him ;  a  whisper  might  not  reach  him ;  she 
called  him  aloud  : 

"  Oh,  come,  come  !     Gome,  come  !  " 

Afterwards  she  thought  of  it  as  a  hail  from  a  ship  to 
another  ship  across  a  stretch  of  water  so  narrow  that  it 
was  all  but  a  stepping  aboard.  How  could  such  a  hail  be 
a  farewell  also  ?  They  were  not  passing ;  as  they  glided 
side  by  side  together,  either  seemed  stationary.  Other 
things,  the  whole  offing  of  Life,  were  in  motion ;  these 
slipped  past,  as  it  were  sky,  shore,  shipping  ;  but  for  a  space 
he  and  she  spoke  from  bridge  to  bridge.  And  he  heard  the 
hail  too,  for  he  opened  his  eyes.  Though  they  never 
looked  on  her  again  they  did  so  now,  relinquishing  all  to 
her.  Was  there  anything  she  had  not  known  ?  Thei'e 
was  nothing  she  might  not  know — now 

By-and-by  she  had  helped  him  to  a  seat  on  the  Em- 
bankment and  had  made  him  sit  down.  She  took  off  his 
tie  and  collar ;  she  smiled  as  he  thanked  her.  "  That 
was  absurd,"  he  said. 

Then  he  asked  her  where  she  lived. 

It  was  over. 

Well,  perhaps  more  would  have  been  more  than  she 
could  have  borne. 

But  when  she  sat  at  last  alone  in  the  hansom  he  had 
called,  conscious  that  she  was  wet  to  the  skin  and  that  her 


258  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

boots  needed  to  be  resoled,  she  still  had  the  image  of  the 
ships  before  her  eyes,  gliding  together  side  by  side,  with 
all  else  in  quiet,  relentless  motion  behind  them.  She  held 
fast  to  it.  She  could  not  have  endured  to  think  that  of 
that  night's  long  wandering  all  that  would  remain  on  the 
morrow  would  be  yet  another  dream  and  a  wet  glove  left 
behind  in  an  empty  Chelsea  street. 


Ill 


LOUIE  CAUSTON  would  have  been  more  than  human  had 
she  not  frequently  thought,  as  her  life  became  a  moving 
from  pillar  to  post  again,  that  there  was  an  exasperating 
proportion  of  absence  in  her  heart's  story.  But  at  first 
she  was  not  petulant.  Some  absences  are  brimful,  as 
other  presences  are  mere  vacancy,  and,  now  that  she  no 
longer  sat,  she  had  other  things,  plenty  of  them,  to  think 
of. 

There  was  little  money  in  the  sale  of  crochet ;  there  was 
not  much  more  in  sitting  in  costumes  hired  from  the 
Models'  Club.  From  both  these  things  she  quickly  turned. 
Perhaps  she  turned  from  them  the  more  quickly  because 
of  Kitty  Windus — f  or  Kitty  was  now  with  her  in  the  flat  in 
the  New  Kings  Road,  and  the  way  in  which  Kitty,  without 
spoken  words,  paid  over  her  weekly  fifteen  shillings,  was 
in  itself  a  spur.  Not  that  Kitty  always  spared  her  the 
words  either.  Two  words  at  least  that  she  did  not  always 
spare  her  were  "rise"  and  "permanency."  Often  Louie 
felt  all  the  amazement,  and  now  quite  without  any  leaven 
of  amusement,  that  she  had  felt  when  first  she  had  entered 
the  Business  School  in  Holborn  ;  but  she  was  not  keeping 
Kitty  (or  Kitty  keeping  her)  either  for  love  of  Kitty  or  her 
own  mere  necessity.  To  keep  Kitty  was  part  and  parcel 


THE   CONSOLIDATION  259 

of  that  absence  she  was  already  beginning  to  resent.  It 
was  merely  safer  to  keep  Kitty  than  to  have  anybody  else 
keep  her.  Besides,  as  long  as  she  kept  Kitty,  she  had  only 
to  write  a  note,  justifying  it  afterwards  as  best  she  could, 
and  two  ships  (so  to  speak)  would  come  together  again. 
She  delayed  to  write  the  note  ;  none  the  less  it  was  in  her 
power  to  do  so. 

So  (to  turn  for  a  moment  to  that  moving  background  of 
Life  in  the  offing)  the  September  of  1900  found  her  answer- 
ing the  advertisement  of  a  Bayswater  seedsman  and 
discovering  the  precise  market  value  of  her  old  Rainham 
Parva  training.  But  by  the  end  of  the  same  month  she 
was  temporarily  installed  at  the  clerk's  table  of  an  exhibi- 
tion of  French  paintings  at  a  Mayfair  gallery,  and  glad  of 
the  job.  Say  (the  question  is  hardly  worth  going  into) 
that  it  was  the  influence  of  the  paintings  themselves  that 
once  more  caused  a  manager  to  propose  that  Louie's  wages 
should  be  substantially  increased,  for  a  consideration ; 
it  didn't  matter ;  Louie,  who  did  not  now  throw  away  jobs 
for  nothing,  merely  told  the  man  not  to  be  silly — than 
which,  as  it  happened,  she  could  have  done  no  better  thing, 
for  at  the  close  of  the  exhibition  the  manager,  now  looking 
upon  her  almost  as  a  dear  daughter,  found  her  another  place, 
this  time  at  a  gallery  academic  both  artistically  and 
morally,  warned  her  against  dangerous  young  men,  and 
kissed  Louie  on  both  her  laughing  cheeks.  After  that  her 
French  again  served  her  turn,  for  she  entered  the  office 
of  an  illustrated  weekly ;  or  if  it  was  not  entirely  the  French 
that  did  it,  so  much  the  luckier  Louie  to  possess  even  yet 
a  frock  that  was  a  rest  to  the  proprietor's  eyes  after  a 
succession  of  applicants  in  walking  skirts  and  white  muslin 
blouses.  This  job  Louie  actually  kept  till  June  1901 ; 
then  an  amalgamation  took  place  that  threw  her  out  of 
work  again.  Three  weeks  later,  after  a  severe  trial  of  her 


260  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

temper  by  Kitty,  she  was  a  "  carpet  designer  " — that  is  to 
say,  she  coloured,  in  an  upper  room  near  St  Pauls  Church- 
yard, pieces  of  paper  so  minutely  chequered  that  some- 
times for  an  hour  or  two  she  could  not  get  the  nicker  out 
of  her  eyes.  She  made  a  grace  of  retiring  from  this  occupa- 
tion as  soon  as  she  saw  that  if  she  did  not  do  so  her  employer 
would  retire  from  the  office  of  paymaster.  After  that  she 
was  reduced  to  sitting  again,  in  costume.  Nothing  else 
offered.  Jimmy  must  eat,  Kitty's  fifteen  shillings  be 
covered.  The  female  figure  in  "  The  Two-stringed  Bow," 
which  caused  such  a  (journalistic)  sensation  in  the  Academy 
of  the  following  year,  is  Louie.  Chaff  did  not  recognise  it. 
Billy  Izzard,  who  had  seen  the  costume  at  the  Models' 
Club,  did.  He  persecuted  Louie  to  sit  for  him  again  as 
before. 

Of  the  Models'  Club  she  was  still  a  member,  and  she  got 
on  well  with  the  girls.  Once  she  took  Kitty  Wiiidus  there, 
but  only  once ;  a  black-and-white  man,  knowing  nothing 
of  Kitty's  pound  a  week,  asked  her  to  sit  to  him  as  Miss 
Tox,  in  "  Dombey  and  Son  "  ;  and  Kitty,  presently  reading 
the  book,  treated  Louie  for  some  days  with  marked  super- 
ciliousness. That  came  of  making  yourself  cheap,  her 
manner  seemed  to  say ;  and  she  reported  Miriam  Levey, 
whom  she  met  near  Piccadilly  Circus  one  day,  as  having 
said,  "  Veil,  vat  do  you  expect  ?  "  Louie  did  not  much 
like  this  meeting  with  Miriam  Levey.  She  remembered 
the  Jewess's  pertinacity  and  curiosity  for  curiosity's  sake. 
Many  such  meetings  between  Kitty  and  Miriam  Levey  might 
easily  complicate  her  own  life. 

There  were  two  bedrooms  in  the  flat  in  the  New  Kings 
Road.  In  the  larger  one,  that  at  the  back  that  Louie 
shared  with  Jimmy,  there  hung  at  first  the  sketch  she  had 
begged  ("  stolen  "  was  Billy's  word)  after  she  had  ceased 
to  sit.  When  Louie  took  this  down  one  day  and  put  it 


THE    CONSOLIDATION  261 

out  of  sight,  she  told  herself  that  she  did  so  on  Jimmy's 
account ;  but  perhaps  those  absences  that  she  had  to 
convert  into  presences  as  best  she  could  had  something 
to  do  with  it  too.  Perhaps,  if  she  did  not  see  the  thing  for 
a  time,  its  first  freshness  would  return. 

Sometimes  she  thought  these  absences  really  too  bad  ; 
she  began  to  think  so  with  increasing  frequency  as  Kitty's 
fits  of  patronage  became  no  rarer.  Really  it  didn't  seem 
fair  that  she  should  be  asked  to  bear  them.  The  least  Jim 
could  have  done,  since  she  bore  them  for  him,  would  have 
been  to  let  her  know  that  he  still  existed.  She  did  not 
much  mind  looking  after  Kitty,  but  it  was  a  little  too  much 
that  on  his  part  all  should  be  absence  ! 

And  that  was  why,  with  Kitty  always  at  hand  for  her 
excuse,  she  did  not  write  to  him. 

In  a  word,  the  joy  of  bearing  for  him  was  becoming 
fainter  in  proportion  as  the  burden  itself  increased. 

Then  a  piece  of  news  with  which  Kitty  came  home  one 
night  added  its  trifle  to  her  smart.  She  was  alone  in  the 
flat  that  night ;  Jimmy  had  been  in  bed  two  hours  and 
more,  and  Louie,  after  having  folded  his  clothes,  cleared 
up  his  litter  of  toys  from  the  floor,  and  tried  to  read  a  news- 
paper, had  turned  low  the  gas,  drawn  up  her  chair  to  one 
of  the  three  windows  that  looked  down  on  the  New  Kings 
Road,  and  sat  gazing  out  over  the  trees  and  houses  and 
scattered  lights  that  stretched  away  to  Earls  Court.  It 
happened  that  that  night  the  Exhibition  was  closing  for 
the  season ;  a  firework  demonstration  was  in  progress ;  and 
out  of  the  little  pool  of  orange  light  rockets  rose  from  time 
to  time,  falling  again  in  slow  showers  of  red  and  green  and 
white.  If  no  cart  was  passing  she  could  just  hear  the 
muffled  detonations. 

She  knew  that  if  an  impossibility  could  have  happened, 
and  Jim  could  have  walked  into  the  room,  sat  down  by  her, 


262  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

and  watched  the  white  and  green  and  red  rockets  with  her, 
that  slight  constant  smart  at  her  heart  would  have  gone ; 
but  now  she  told  herself  that  it  was  not  as  if  she  was  young, 
with  unlimited  time  before  her.  She  was  thirty-two,  and 
too  much  absence  is  not  sustenance  enough  for  thirty-two. 
But  that,  she  supposed,  meant  nothing  to  a  man.  Men 
did  not  appear  to  get  old  in  quite  the  same  way.  The  man 
who  had  tried  to  make  love  to  her  at  the  French  picture 
exhibition  was  sixty  if  he  was  a  day  ;  sixty,  and  still 
fiery ;  and  apparently  he  had  found  her  still  desirable  also. 
But  it  was  not  for  much  longer.  Women  died  with  their 
beauty.  Of  course  she  had  her  little  darling  asleep  there  ; 
men  had  the  comfortable  theory  that  women  wanted 
nothing  more  than  to  "  live  again  "  (as  they  called  it) 
in  their  children ;  well,  all  that  Louie  could  say  was  that 
she  did  not  agree  with  them.  She  knew  one  woman  who 
wanted  more.  It  might  be  wicked  and  unnatural  to  endow 
Jimmy,  as  she  had  done,  with  a  sort  of  vicarious  father, 
but  Roy  was  gone  out  of  her  life — gone  ;  to  have  married 
him  would  have  made  more  mischief  than  it  would  have 
cured ;  and  Louie  saw  no  reason  for  not  telling  herself  the 
truth  about  herself.  But  a  vicarious  father  who  stayed 
away  was  altogether  too  vicarious.  .  .  . 

Well,  well,  she  supposed  that  if  a  woman  would  have  a 
man  at  all  she  must  put  up  with  a  selfish  one. 

He,  of  course,  knew  exactly  what  he  wanted,  and  had 
got  it ;  nor  could  she  say  that  he  had  not  earned  it — 
grimly.  But  now  that  he  had  got  it,  what  about  somebody 
else  who  was  helping  him  to  keep  it — somebody  called 
Louie  Causton,  who  stepped  in  when  she  was  wanted, 
took  half  the  burden  off  his  back,  and  was  presently  sent 
about  her  business  again  ?  (For  she  had  remembered 
now  the  quite  personal,  preoccupied  questions,  about 
Kitty  and  Miriam  and  his  wife,  that  he  had  put  to  her 


THE   CONSOLIDATION  263 

on  the  night  of  their  long  walk.)  Oh,  no  doubt  she  would 
be  there  when  she  was  next  wanted,  to  share  with  him  the 
thing  another  woman  ought  to  have  shared  (but  thank 
goodness  the  other  woman  had  not !).  It  had  not  in  the 
least  surprised  Louie  that  his  wife  knew  nothing.  It 
would  have  surprised  her  very  much  indeed  if  she  had 
known  anything.  Jim  might  humbug  himself  as  he  liked, 
but  at  the  bottom  of  his  heart  (she  now  saw)  he  knew  better 
than  to  tell  her.  She  was  not  the  kind  ;  it  was  Louie  who 
was  that  kind,  and  he  knew  it  too.  But  there :  she  was 
pretty,  and  men  asked  no  further ;  give  them  hair  and  eyes 
and  an  unlined  brow  and  the  rest  could  go  hang.  Heart 
and  vision — no ;  courage  and  devotion  and  the  strength 
to  bear — no  ;  but  twenty  years,  a  curving  eyelash,  and  a 
bloom  more  quickly  gone  than  the  falling  rockets  yonder, 
and  ah,  how  they  ran  !  But  they  didn't  trust  them.  No, 
the  other  sort  was  sent  for  then.  And  it  was  the  business 
of  the  other  sort  to  be,  always,  as  strong  as  they  some- 
times thought  themselves. 

The  last  rocket  fell ;  the  lights  of  the  big  wheel  began  to 
make  quicker  revolutions ;  and  Louie  left  the  window  and 
turned  up  the  gas  again. 

As  she  did  so  the  electric  bell  in  the  kitchen  rang.  It 
rang  again,  and  then  Louie  remembered  that  the  street  door 
four  floors  below  would  be  closed  for  the  night.  She 
passed  out  on  to  the  landing  and  descended  the  stairs. 
It  was  Kitty.  She  had  forgotten  her  key.  Kitty  panted 
as  they  ascended  again. 

"  How  long  have  you  been  in  ?  "  she  demanded,  as  she 
took  off  her  hat  and  coat  in  the  little  hall. 

"All  the  evening,"  said  Louie.  "Have  you  had 
supper  ?  " 

"  No,  I  haven't,"  said  Kitty  shortly,  and  then  came  her 
grumble.,  Why  hadn't  Louie  had  the  gas  lighted  ?  Fire- 


264  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

works  indeed  !  And  there  Kitty  had  been  waiting  for 
twenty  minutes  and  more,  thinking  nobody  was  in — any- 
body might  forget  their  key  once  in  a  while,  mightn't 
they  ?  Hadn't  Louie  forgotten  hers  not  a  week  ago,  and 
that  not  the  only  time  ?  Kitty  had  a  right  to  forget  her 
key  sometimes.  And  there  had  Louie  been  in  all  the  time, 
watching  fireworks  !  Well,  what  was  there  for  supper  ? 
And  the  fire  almost  out  too ;  really,  if  Kitty  paid  for  the 
coals,  Louie  might  at  least  keep  the  fire  in  ! 

Louie  mended  the  fire  and  got  Kitty's  supper.  When 
Kitty  had  finished  she  cleared  the  little  round  table  again, 
and  by  the  time  Kitty  had  put  on  a  pair  of  red  bedroom 
slippers  and  turned  up  her  skirt  to  the  blaze  she  deigned 
to  relent  a  little.  She  admitted  that  it  wasn't  as  if  Louie 
had  known  she  was  waiting  in  the  street,  but  all  the 
same  it  was  annoying. 

"  And  now  I've  got  a  piece  of  news  for  you,"  she  said, 
warming  her  hands.  "  It's  a  dead  secret,  but  I  don't  sup- 
pose Miriam  would  mind  my  telling  you.  She's  in  for  no 
end  of  a  good  job  in  a  few  weeks  !  But  she  always  gets 
good  jobs.  She  has  determination,  Miriam  has,  you  see." 

Louie  was  standing  by  the  end  of  the  mantelpiece,  stirring 
a  cup  of  cocoa.  She  only  said  "  Oh  ?  "  Her  own  lack  of 
determination  was  now  an  old  reproach, 

"  Ra-tfAer !  Have  you  heard  me  speak  of  a  Mr  Pepper 
ever  ?  But  no,  you  won't  have  ;  you're  always  a  bit  sniffy 
about  Miriam,  you  see,  and  that  doesn't  encourage  people 
to  talk.  Well,  she's  his  confidential  clerk  at  the  Freight 
and  Ballast  Company,  but  he's  chucking  that,  and  who  do 
you  think  with  ? — James  Jeffries  !  " 

She  paused  to  see  the  effect  on  Louie,  and  then  con- 
tinued. 

"  Yes,  James  Jeffries  !  What  do  you  think  of  that  ? 
They're  going  to  start  on  their  own,  in  no  end  of  a  swell  way, 


THE   CONSOLIDATION  265 

and  Miriam's  going  over  with  them.  It's  Mr  Pepper's 
doing,  of  course,  and  as  Mr  Pepper  isn't  exactly  a  nobody 
even  where  he  is,  you  may  bet  your  boots  he  won't  change 
for  the  worse  !  Oh,  James  Jeffries  knows  the  kind  of 
person  to  hang  on  to  !  He's  to  be  a  partner,  if  you  please, 
as  good  as  Mr  Pepper  himself  ;  how's  that  for  greasing  in  ? 
Friends  of  the  mammon  of  unrighteousness,  I  don't  think ! " 

Kitty  had  this  way  now  of  speaking  of  her  former  fianct. 
Sometimes  she  so  extended  his  name  that  it  became  "  Mister 
James  Herbert  Jeffries."  And  however  Jim  now  "got 
on,"  his  advancement  would  still  be,  to  Kitty,  a  magnifica- 
tion of  her  own  superiority  in  those  days  when  she  had  had 
a  pound  a  week  and  he  nothing.  She  began  to  take  out 
hairpins  and  went  on. 

"  Oh  dear,  I  wish  my  brushes  were  here  !  "  (Louie 
fetched  them.)  "What  was  I  saying?  Oh  yes,  about 
Miriam.  She's  to  have  an  office  to  herself,  perhaps,  or  at 
any  rate  she's  not  going  to  sit  with  the  other  girls  ;  and  when 
I  tell  you  it's  in  Pall  Mall,  you  can  judge  for  yourself — not 
just  a  couple  of  offices  rented,  but  a  whole  building — what 
ho  !  The  stone  that  the  builders  rejected  if  you  like  ! 
And  she'll  have  her  own  extending-bracket  telephone,  the 
very  latest,  and  arms  to  her  chair  to  put  her  elbows  on, 
not  like  the  typists  !  And  Mr  Pepper's  most  friendly  with 
her — she  takes  down  his  conversations  with  no  end  of 
swells  !  And  I  say,  Evie  Jeffries  won't  be  half  set  up  over 
it  all,  oh  no  !  Even  his  office — James  Herbert's,  Miriam 
says — is  going  to  be  perfectly  scrumptious  !  " 

Her  head  was  on  one  side  ;  her  short  hair,  as  she  brushed 
it,  hardly  reached  farther  than  the  sharp  point  of  her 
shoulder  ;  and  Louie  was  thinking  of  that  spurious  engage- 
ment again.  And  suddenly — this  had  happened  before, 
but  never  before  with  so  keen  a  stab — the  thought  set  her 
raging.  .  .  .  She  herself  had  been  so  near  !  .  .  .  Her  elbow 


266  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

caught  her  cup  of  cocoa  ;  it  spilt,  and  ran  in  a  little  stream 
from  the  corner  of  the  mantelpiece.  ...  So  near  !  And 
once  again  she  cried  to  herself  that  she  would  have  known 
how  to  keep  him,  Roy  or  no  Roy  !  .  .  .  Kitty  ?  What  could 
his  courtship  of  Kitty  and  her  bones  have  been  ?  She 
would  have  shown  him  the  difference  !  To  have  been  so 
near  and  then — Mortlake  Road,  Putney  ! 

Suddenly  there  seemed  to  her  to  be  a  great  deal  to  be  said 
for  conventional  morality  after  all. 

For  a  moment  her  heart  was  full  of  hate- — hate  of  Kitty, 
hate  of  Evie  Jeffries,  hate  of  Roy,  hate  of  herself.  To  have 
been  so  near ! 

But  the  sharpness  of  it  died  down  to  a  sullen  ache.  In 
his  affairs  he  seemed  to  be  going  up,  up  ;  she  had  always 
known  he  would  ;  and  less  than  ever  might  she  expect  to 
hear  from  him  now.  And  he  would  take  his  common  little 
wife  up  with  him.  He  might  go  anywhere,  meet  any- 
body ;  but  sourly  she  wondered  what  sort  of  a  figure  he 
supposed  his  Evie  would  cut  up  there — would  have  cut  at 
Trant  or  Mallard  Bois  ?  Oh,  Louie  would  dearly  have 
liked  to  see  her  there,  to  have  pointed  to  her,  and  to  have 
told  Jim  to  his  face  that  whatever  ability  he  might 
have  seemed  to  be  yoked  with  an  unimaginable  stupidity, 
since  he  had  not  known  instantly  the  one  woman  for  him. 

Well,  there  was  simply  no  accounting  for  these  things. 

But  if  he  was  going  up,  Louie  did  not  very  much  like  the 
channel  by  which  she  had  received  the  information.  She 
had  known  that  Kitty  saw  Miriam  Levey  ;  now  she  seemed 
to  hear  her  thick  voice  again,  "  I  mil  find  out !  "  She  was 
aware,  too,  that  there  was  little  love  lost  between  Miriam 
Levey  and  herself.  She  herself  had  encouraged  Kitty  in 
her  present  attitude  of  "  Mister  Jeffries,"  but  it  only  needed 
the  Jewess  to  propose  the  contrary  attitude  and  in  all 
probability  there  would  be  a  struggle  between  them  for  the 


THE   CONSOLIDATION  267 

possession  of  Kitty.  She  detested  Kitty ;  yet  in  order 
that  Evie  Jeffries  might  make  an  exhibition  of  herself 
among  the  people  whose  equal  Louie  was,  Louie  had  to  put 
up  with  her,  bones  and  chilblains  and  all !  Much  he  left 
her,  didn't  he  ?  Good  gracious,  yes  !  And  it  was  about 
time  he  was  told  that  flesh  and  blood  women  weren't  made 
like  that ! 

Kitty,  remarking  that  it  was  a  shame  to  leave  the  now 
glowing  fire,  had  passed  out  of  the  room  for  a  minute  ;  she 
now  returned,  in  her  slippers  and  nightgown.  Her  feet, 
she  said,  were  still  cold  with  waiting  on  the  pavement ; 
she  would  say  her  prayers  with  them  turned  to  the  fire. 
She  knelt  by  a  wicker  chair,  and  set  the  red  slippers  on  the 
low  kerb,  their  worn  soles  to  the  fire.  Louie,  still  from  the 
end  of  the  mantelpiece,  watched  her.  At  a  slight  sound 
she  made  Kitty  turned  her  head  for  a  moment ;  then  she 
put  it  on  the  cushion  of  the  chair  again. 

Yes,  certainly  Louie  must  have  a  wicked  heart,  or  she 
would  not  have  looked  on  the  kneeling  woman  as  she  dids 
She  wondered  what,  texts  apart,  Kitty  could  have  to  say 
to  God.  To  pray — with  her  feet  in  a  warm  place  !  Why, 
Louie  mortified  herself  more  for  an  absent  man  than  Kitty 
seemed  to  do  before  her  Maker  !  .  .  .  And  even  when  she 
had  stifled  the  thought  she  still  had  no  more  than  a  negative 
compassion  for  Kitty.  She  was  not  unsorry  for  her 
and  her  weakheadedness  ;  beyond  that  Kitty  was  not,  or 
ought  not  to  have  been,  her  affair.  What  was  her  affair 
was  herself  and  what  little  remained  of  her  youth.  Kitty 
was  hardly  more  than  a  year  or  two  older  than  she,  but  she 
looked  a  dozen  years  older ;  Louie  wondered  whether  her 
shoulder  blades  too  would  soon  resemble  the  set-squares  in 
Billy's  studio,  whether  her  waist  also  would  seem  a  broken 
thing  within  empty  looking  folds.  .  .  . 

Kitty  continued  to  pray  and  to  warm  her  feet.    Louie, 


268  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

wondering  what  her  next  snappishness  would  be  when  she 
rose  from  her  knees  again,  continued  to  watch  her. 

Then  Kitty  rose.     She  turned  to  Louie. 

"  By  the  way,  did  you  brush  that  blue  skirt  of  mine  ?  " 
she  said.  "  Oh,  very  well,  it  doesn't  matter  now  ;  perhaps 
I  oughtn't  to  have  asked  you ;  thank  you  ;  I  can  do  it 
myself  in  the  morning.  Sorry  I  spoke." 

Louie  turned  away. 

These  were  the  times  when  she  could  hardly  tell  what  had 
possessed  her  ever  to  have  supposed  that  she  would  be  able 
to  keep  watch  and  ward  over  Kitty  at  all.  Kitty  was  per- 
fectly free  to  meet  Miriam  Levey  or  anybody  else  she  had  a 
mind  to  meet.  And  why,  she  asked  herself  at  these  times, 
should  she  not  meet  her  ?  Where,  hanging  and  such  moon- 
shine apart,  was  the  risk  to  Jim  ?  Indeed,  it  seemed  to 
Louie  that  that  story  that  seemed  so  to  weigh  on  Jim  was 
quickly  becoming  altogether  beside  the  mark.  The  whole 
venue  of  his  difficulties  was  rapidly  shifting.  What  he  had 
done  had  not  been  discovered  and  probably  never  would 
be  discovered  ;  what  he  wanted  now  was,  not  to  be  pro- 
tected from  remote  and  shadowy  and  nonsensical  dangers, 
but  to  be  told  how  he  was  to  be  happy  with  the  wife  whom 
he  had  seen  fit,  in  the  great  heap  of  his  wisdom,  to  keep  in 
ignorance.  Of  course  the  remoter  danger  need  not  be 
entirely  forgotten,  but  this,  or  else  Louie  was  greatly  mis- 
taken, was  what  those  scarce-heard  questions  on  the  night 
of  that  long  walk  had  really  meant. 

And,  in  that  case,  what  the  devil  was  she,  Louie  Causton, 
doing  in  this  galley  at  all,  with  nothing  of  Jim  but  silence 
and  absence,  and  nothing  but  peevishness  and  petty  t  yranny 
from  Kitty  ?  Roy,  it  might  be,  was  still  ready  to  marry 
her  ;  Buck  never  ceased  to  importune,  sulk  and  implore  ; 
Jimmy,  one  way  or  another,  would  be  to  provide  for  ;  and 
she  knew  now  how  little  she  could  do  for  him  alone.  Even 


THE   CONSOLIDATION  269 

her  desire  to  "show"  Richenda  Earle  had  now  passed. 
She  wanted,  desperately  wanted,  all  the  things  she  per- 
sisted in  rejecting.  Why  was  she  becoming  morose,  dis- 
illusioned, devil-may-care  ?  It  was  a  familiar  question  now, 
but  as  she  undressed  that  night  she  asked  herself  again  what 
it  all  meant. 

She  answered  herself  that  there  was  no  mystery  about  it. 
She  supposed  it  happened  to  every  woman.  It  meant,  of 
course,  the  passing  of  her  youth. 

But,  her  head  on  her  pillow,  she  had  her  compensating 
hour.  No  need  to  re-describe  its  kind ;  there  was  now 
added  again  that  forced  and  desperate  illusion,  of  the  unity 
of  herself,  her  boy,  and  the  man  she  would  have  had  his 
father.  She  knew  she  merely  abused  her  fancy  and  must 
suffer  for  it  afterwards,  but  no  matter ;  if  it  was  a  drug  it 
was  a  sweet  one,  and  that  it  might  stay  with  her  a  little 
longer  she  chose  uncomfortable  positions  that  would  keep 
her  awake.  She  could  hear  Jimmy's  breathing  across  the 
dark  room.  Jim,  Jimmy  and  herself 

It  was  against  her  own  will  that,  at  two  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  she  slept. 


IV 


IT  was  his  voice  over  the  telephone  of  the  Models'  Club 
that  broke  the  long  silence.  Ten  chances  to  one  but  the 
bell  had  rung  in  an  empty  room,  for,  save  for  a  woman  who 
was  washing  the  hall  floor,  Louie  was  alone  in  the  place. 
She  unhooked  the  receiver.  "  Hallo  !  "  she  called.  .  .  . 
"  Yes,  this  is  the  Models'  Club This  is  Miss  Causton " 

At  last ! 

He  did  not  say  why  he  wanted  to  see  her  ;  he  only  said 
that  he  wanted  to  do  so  at  once.  His  minimised  voice,  with 


270  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

its  suggestion  of  distance,  seemed  to  her  curiously  symbolic 
of  their  whole  relation.  A  telephone  was  supposed  to  bring 
voices  near,  but  far  more  than  that  the  smallness  and  the 
distance  struck  her. 

"  No,  I'm  afraid  not,"  she  continued  to  speak  into  the 
instrument,  "  but  I  can  give  you  dinner  here.  You  know 
the  address  ?  .  .  .  Yes,  at  seven.  ...  All  right.  .  .  ." 

Seek  him  ?  No,  she  certainly  would  not  seek  him.  He 
must  come  to  her.  She  could  give  him  tea  and  chops. 
As  she  hung  up  the  receiver  again  she  glanced  at  the  clock 
over  the  little  service  counter.  Eleven.  Bight  hours.  .  .  . 
She  had  waited  for  months,  now  she  must  wait  another 
eight  hours.  She  could  have  faced  the  months  again  with 
more  composure. 

Only  to  look  at  the  advertisements  in  the  papers  had  she 
come  to  the  Club  that  morning  at  all.  Well,  she  was  not 
going  to  answer  that  clairvoyant's  announcement  she  had 
seen  in  The  Telegraph  now.  Kitty  would  ask  her  that 
evening  whether  she  had  been  looking  for  work,  and  would 
hold  up  Miriam  Levey  and  her  determination  as  an  example ; 
let  her ;  Louie  couldn't  be  bothered  with  clairvoyants  and 
their  advertisements  to-day. 

And  Kitty  little  dreamed  how  near  Louie  had  more  than 
once  been  to  showing  herself  as  determined  even  as  Miriam. 
Miriam  was  not  the  only  one  who  might  be  "  taken  on  "  at 
this  new  Consolidation  of  Mr  Pepper's  and  Jim's,  whatever 
it  was.  There  is  such  a  thing,  when  a  man  doesn't  come 
to  you,  as  a  miserable,  ignoble  yielding  to  the  ache  to  go  to 
him.  There  is  such  a  thing  as  the  willingness  even  to  keep 
a  door  all  day  for  the  sake  of  seeing  him  go  through  it  just 
once.  After  a  certain  time  pride  becomes  a  poor  staff,  and 
— but  he  was  coming,  in  eight  hours.  That  was  why  she 
had  refused  to  dine  with  him.  Your  pride  stiffens  again 
when  you  have  just  been  on  the  point  of  throwing  it  aside. 


THE    CONSOLIDATION  271 

She  knew  that  she  would  be  good  for  nothing  for  the  rest 
of  the  day  ;  in  that  case  she  might  as  well  go  and  see  her 
father.  She  had  money  enough  for  her  bus  fares  ;  half- 
past  one  found  her  at  the  Molyneux  Arms. 

Buck  was  in  high  feather.  His  name  had  been  proposed, 
in  the  interests  of  Church  and  State,  as  a  candidate  for  the 
Borough  Council ;  and  the  chief  plank  of  the  platform 
which  Buck  occupied  during  the  whole  of  that  afternoon, 
descending  from  it  with  the  greatest  reluctance  only  when 
Louie  vowed  that  she  could  not  stay  another  moment,  was 
that  as  long  as  England  had  Queensberrys  to  make  her  P.R. 
Rules  it  didn't  matter  what  Radicals  tried  to  make  of  her 
laws.  Louie  fondled  his  silver  hair  ;  dear  old  dad  !  Then 
she  made  him  drive  her  back  to  Chelsea. 

(Buck,  by  the  way,  was  returned  at  the  head  of  the  poll, 
a  few  weeks  later,  amid  acclamations  that  might  well  have 
rendered  him  deaf  in  his  other  ear  also.) 

Back  in  the  Club  once  more,  Louie  set  aside  the  best  chop, 
and  made  a  tour  of  the  place  in  search  of  the  narrowest 
table.  The  one  she  chose  was  so  narrow  that  the  backs 
of  the  two  chairs  she  turned  up  against  it  almost  touched. 
Lightheartedly  she  rebuked  Myrtle  Morris,  who  asked  her 
whether  she  was  expecting  "  a  boy  "  ;  and  she  laughed  as 
Myrtle  went  of!  to  tell  another  girl  that  "  Causton  was  on 
the  warpath."  Her  warpaint  consisted  of  a  white  blouse, 
low  and  perfectly  plain  at  the  neck,  and  a  navy  blue  skirt. 
She  was  waiting  at  the  window  for  Jim  twenty  minutes 
before  he  came. 

She  had  schooled  herself  to  a  rigorous  composure.  She 
opened  the  door  for  him  and  told  him  to  mind  the  hall 
lamp,  within  an  inch  of  which  his  hat  reached  ;  and  the 
hand  she  gave  him  was  not  gloved  this  time.  But  she  barely 
touched  his  hand  ;  had  she  not  two  whole  hours  before  her  ? 
He  put  aside  a  cheap  hanging  of  rustling  beads  for  her  to 


272  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

pass,  and  then  followed  her  into  the  large  room  on  the  left 
of  the  hall,  empty  save  for  a  piano  and  a  few  chairs,  that 
was  used  for  parties  and  tableaux.  Myrtle  and  another  girl 
appeared  for  a  moment  in  the  doorway ;  the  minxes 
appeared  to  be  waltzing,  but  they  had  come  to  see  who 
"  Oauston's  boy  "  was  ;  and  as  they  sat  down  she  asked 
him,  as  if  daring  him  to  find  any  but  the  plainer  meaning 
in  it,  how  Billy  Izzard  was.  She  exulted  that  she  could  say 
these  things  and  he  could  not.  Then  she  was  told  that  their 
chops  were  ready.  They  passed  into  the  next  room. 

The  table — it  was  a  flimsy  card-table  covered  with  a 
cheap  traycloth  stiff  with  starch — accounted  for  all  awk- 
wardnesses and  proximities  ;  again  she  found  it  secretly 
delicious  to  murmur  a  demure  apology  for  its  smallness. 
She  lingered  over  the  eating  of  her  chop  merely  because  her 
plate  was  edge  to  edge  with  his  ;  she  would  manage  badly 
if  she  could  not  keep  him  at  least  two  hours  !  Then,  when 
she  could  linger  out  her  eating  no  longer,  she  asked  him  for  a 
cigarette  and  a  light — for  in  the  studios  she  had  learned  to 
smoke.  He  gave  them  to  her.  Her  lids  hovered  as  he  held 
the  match  ;  she  wondered  whether  she  should  look  straight 
into  his  eyes  or  keep  her  lids  downcast.  In  the  end  she  did 
both,  looking  at  him  first,  then  down.  Whether  he  looked 
at  her  at  all  she  did  not  know  ;  the  first  at  any  rate  was  a 
miss.  She  did  not  ask  for  a  second  match  (she  had,  she 
bold  herself,  some  shame) ;  instead,  she  put  her  elbows  on 
the  table  and  said,  without  further  delay  :  "  Well,  what  is 
it?" 

She  nodded  as  he  began  to  tell  her  ;  it  seemed  to  be 
pretty  much  what  she  had  expected.  She  listened,  or  half 
listened  ;  she  would  not  have  sworn,  had  he  challenged  her, 
that  her  attention  did  not  wander  a  little.  Her  thoughts 
were  ahead  of  his,  but  a  little  patience — he  would  catch 
Up  ;  he  would  see  presently  that  what  his  wife  might  think 


THE   CONSOLIDATION  273 

or  what  she  might  not  think  (for  that  was  what  he  was 
talking  about)  was  of  less  practical  importance  than  he 
supposed.  Naturally  his  wife  must  be  thinking  this  and 
that ;  marriage  that  left  such  a  thing  as  a — call  it  a  private 
execution — out  of  the  calculation  might  even  turn  out  to  be 
a  little  difficult ;  but  she  might  as  well  hear  what  he  had  to 
say  about  it.  She  waited  for  the  cropping  up  of  the  names 
of  Miriam  Levey  and  Kitty  Windus  ;  they  duly  appeared. 
Mrs  Jeffries,  it  seemed,  wanted  to  see  Kitty,  and  Miriam 
Levey  wanted  her  to  do  so.  Why  they  wanted  these  things 
was  not  very  clear,  but  possibly,  if  Louie  was  giving  him 
only  half  her  attention,  Jim  was  not  saying  all  he  knew 
either.  He  still  considered  that  aspect  of  the  affair  to  be 
wholly  and  solely  the  problem  :  but  no  doubt  he  would  wake 
up  by-and-by. 

Suddenly  she  asked  him  whether  he  and  his  wife  had 
quarrelled.  He  shook  the  head  that  apparently,  in  spite 
of  its  stupidity,  she  must  still  love. 

«  No— oh  no." 

"  Well- 

And  on  he  went  again,  still  quite  a  number  of  leagues 
behind — the  complication  of  his  former  engagement  to 
Kitty,  Evie's  sense  of  unexplained  things,  Miriam  Levey, 
her  voracious  curiosity,  her  presence  at  this  new  Consolida- 
tion. 

But  here  she  interrupted  him.  "  One  moment.  When 
do  you  start — this  Consolidation  ?  " 

He  was  toying  with  a  knife ;  the  little  reflection  passed 
over  his  massive  face  as  he  turned  the  blade.  "  In  a  few 
weeks.  Why  ?  " 

"You  don't  intend  to  take  Miriam  Levey  over  with 
you  ?  " 

He  put  the  knife  down  with  a  little  slap.  "  I  do  not," 
he  said.  Louie  had  thought  as  much.  So,  no  doubt,  in 


274  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

spite  of  what  she  seemed  to  have  said  to  Kitty,  had  Miriam 
Levey. 

"  Well,  go  on  ;  I  interrupted  you,"  she  said. 

He  went  on.  It  seemed  to  her  that  if  nothing  had 
actually  happened  his  overcarefulness  was  the  one  way 
likely  to  bring  it  to  pass.  Then,  she  supposed,  he  would 
ring  her  up  on  the  telephone  again. 

By  this  time  she  was  thinking  far  more  of  Miriam  Levey's 
empty  chair  at  the  new  Consolidation  than  she  was  of 
things  unaccounted  for  between  her  guest  and  his  wife. 

And  as  for  those  unexplained  things  (Louie  neither  knew 
nor  cared  what  they  might  be),  she  could  only  tell  him  now 
what  she  had  told  him  that  night  when  they  had  walked 
together,  that  wives  must  either  be  wives  or  not,  must  be 
told  things  or  else  be  something  less  than  wives.  Perhaps 
she  had  not  put  it  quite  so  plainly  to  him  as  that  before, 
but  that  was  what  it  had  amounted  to.  Men  with  secrets 
ought  to  marry  the  right  women.  .  .  .  She  stole  a  daring 
look  at  him  across  the  table.  He  was  mumbling  and 
twiddling  a  spoon  now.  His  shoulders,  bigger  than  Buck's, 
were  clothed  in  an  exquisite  iron-grey  cloth  ;  she  wondered 
whether  he  knew  that  she  had  kissed  one  of  them  that 
night  in  a  Chelsea  doorway.  .  .  .  And  then,  as  he  paused 
and  looked  up,  she  spoke.  She  did  so  almost  curtly. 
If  not  telling  hadn't  answered,  she  said,  she  could  only 
suggest,  once  more,  telling.  As  for  Kitty,  he  might  put 
her  entirely  on  one  side ;  as  long  as  she  remained  with 
Louie,  Louie  would  answer  for  her. 

Then,  for  the  first  time,  he  seemed  to  show  a  gleam  of 
interest  in  her  affairs.  He  asked  her  how  she  got  her 
living,  now.  .  .  .  Her  pulse  quickened.  Billy  had  told 
him,  then ;  by  "  now  "  he  meant  now  that  she  no  longer 
sat ;  and  his  eyes  avoided  hers.  He  coloured ;  apparently 
he  thought  he  was  doing  her  an  honour  in  wiping  out  all 


THE   CONSOLIDATION  275 

memory  of  that  discovery  in  Billy's  studio.  An  honour ! 
She  could  have  laughed  at  him.  He  little  knew  how  she 
longed  to  tell  him  more — to  tell  him  about  the  oyster-grey 
too — to  tell  him  that  for  her  it  was  as  long  ago  as  that. 
But  no,  he  had  seen  the  pearl 

And  it  appeared  that  his  talk  really  had  an  object  now  ; 
but,  as  usual,  she  had  seen  the  drift  of  it  before  he  had. 
He  was  thinking  of  Miss  Levey's  place,  if  his  absurd 
delicacies  would  only  allow  him  to  get  it  out. 

"  Would  you  accept  it  ?  "  he  managed  at  last  to  ask, 
sounding  her  earnestly  with  his  eyes. 

"  Steady,  silly  woman,"  she  whispered  to  herself,  brightly 
flushing.  .  .  . 

But,  glancing  at  him,  she  suddenly  winced.  Twice 
before  men  had  offered  her  posts,  at  more  than  their 
market  value,  and  there  had  been  no  colour  in  her  cheeks 
as  she  had  refused  them ;  had  she  coloured  now  at  the 
quick  thought  that  if  he  had  made  such  an  offer  she  might 
perhaps  .  .  .  ?  If  so,  there  was  mortification  and  despite 
in  her  colour.  Why  did  he  offer  her  Miss  Levey's  place  ? 
Was  it  his  wife  again — always  his  ninny  of  a  wife  ?  If  that 
was  so,  so  much  the  worse  for  him  ;  it  was  time  he  learned 
that  if  he  got  into  a  mess  he  must  make  shift  to  get  out  of 
it  again.  There  was  a  new  little  twang  in  her  voice  as, 
suddenly  looking  into  his  eyes,  she  said  ;  "  You've  no  right 
to  expect  that  of  me  !  " 

And  as  soon  as  the  words  were  spoken,  she  saw  too  where 
she  herself  stood,  and  to  what  point  beyond  she  was  pre- 
pared to  go.  She  knew  now  that  she  would  have  taken 
his  job,  not  at  added  wages,  but  without  wages  at  all. 
But  to  the  humiliating  thought  that  he  imagined  himself 
to  be  doing  her  a  kindness  was  now  superadded  that  of  his 
entire  ignorance  that  she  might  be  making  an  attack  upon 
his  faithfulness  at  all.  Suddenly  she  saw  herself  merely 


276  THE    STORY    OF   LOUIE 

wonderful  to  Jiim — she  wonderful ! — she,  who  had  thought 
she  could  spend  all  her  life  up  in  the  clouds,  be  content  to 
be  magnanimous  for  magnanimity's  sake,  virtuous  for  the 
mere  love  of  virtue  !  Oh,  if  that  was  all,  he  needn't  think 
that  any  longer  !  Wonderful  ?  .  .  .  What  she  wanted  was 
nob  wonderf ul  at  all,  oh  dear,  no :  merely  something  common, 
coarse,  filling ;  nothing  more  wonderful  than  that.  .  .  . 
Wise  mother,  to  have  known  that  that  was  the  end  of  it 
all,  and  to  have  taken,  long  ago,  in  Henson's  studio, 
the  short  cut !  She  did  not  even  try  to  check  a  wild  little 
exclamation.  .  .  . 

And  he  evidently  saw  something  too,  though  what,  as  he 
blundered  deeper,  she  did  not  stop  to  inquire.  He  gave  a 
groan.  "  Poor  woman  !  "  he  said  compassionately. 

He  might  just  as  well  have  set  a  spark  to  a  fuse.  There 
broke  from  her  a  peremptory  cry. 

"  Not  that,  Jim — that's  the  one  thing  I  will  not  bear — I 
will  not  be  called  '  poor  woman.' " 

And  the  rest  now  had  to  follow.  It  was  the  sum  of  her 
broodings,  resentments,  hatreds,  dreams,  desire,  despair. 
Evie,  him,  herself — oh,  it  was  not  her  fault  if  he  didn't  see 
now  how  the  three  of  them  stood.  He  knew  only  too  well 
what  he  wanted :  what  Louie  wanted  she  also  knew  only 
too  well.  Except  to  offer  her  a  job  that  would  save  him 
even  the  trouble  of  ringing  her  up  on  the  telephone  when 
her  help  was  required,  had  he  ever,  until  this  moment, 
looked  at  the  thing  from  her  point  of  view  ?  He  had  not. 
She  would  help  him  still ;  but  if  their  ships  must  part  like 
this,  at  least  no  false  tidings  should  pass  from  bridge  to 
bridge :  he  should  know  exactly  what  it  was  he  asked,  and 
why  she  gave  it !  She  began  to  speak  rapidly,  uncertainly, 
but  sparing  him  nothing.  Perhaps,  after  all,  she  said,  his 
wife  would  understand ;  he  had  only  to  tell  her  that  her 
husband  made  away  with  her  sweetheart ;  perhaps  she 


THE    CONSOLIDATION  277 

could  bear  it ;  if  she  couldn't,  well — he  knew  what  was  his 
for  the  holding  up  of  a  finger.  .  .  . 

Then,  as  suddenly  as  she  had  begun,  she  stopped.  Her 
voice  dropped.  "  I've  had  no  luck,"  she  said,  with  quiet 
bitterness.  "I'm  out  of  it,  and  there's  no  more  to  say. 
Give  me  a  match." 

And  then  she  rose.     He  might  sit  there  if  he  liked. 

He  rose  too,  and  they  walked  down  the  room  in  silence 
together.  The  bead  screen  of  the  hall  parted  and  tinkled 
together  again  behind  the  great  church-door  of  his  back. 
Without  a  word  he  took  down  his  coat  and,  under  the 
coloured  hall  lamp,  hoisted  himself  into  it.  And  then  he 
looked  at  her. 

Already  in  her  heart  she  knew  that  that  look  was  the 
end.  Her  offer  had  been  rejected.  Whatever  else  might 
happen,  she,  Louie  Causton,  would  never  come  between 
him  and  his  wife.  The  woman  who  had  those  eyes  would 
keep  their  looks  ;  had  it  been  Louie's  fortune  to  have  them, 
she  would  have  kept  their  looks.  He  was  a  plotter,  but 
not  of  amours  ;  a  carrier  through  too,  but  not  of  intrigues. 
So  grave  an  innocence  was  his  that  probably  he  didn't 
know  that  his  look  told  her  all  this;  if  so,  it  was  final 
indeed. 

So  she  took  her  dismissal,  and  then,  with  her  hand  on 
the  letter-box  of  the  door,  stood  gazing  meditatively  on  the 
ground.  She  had  wanted  to  be  wooed ;  failing  that,  she 
had  once  more  brought  herself  to  woo  ;  and  this  Joseph 
had  gravely  repelled  her. 

At  last  she  looked  up. 

"  About  what  you  were  saying — I  mean  that  place  of 
Miss  Levey's,"  she  said.  "  I  don't  think  it  would  do — 
not  now." 

The  man  who  could  plan  a  rmirder  but  not  an  affair 
looked  humbly  up. 


278  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

"  Why  not  ?  "  he  murmured.  It  was  as  if  he  said :  "  I 
don't  remember  that  meeting  of  ours  in  Billy's  studio; 
I  forget  this  too.  You  see  how  it  is.  Your  taking  the 
job  would  make  no  difference." 

Slowly  she  shook  her  head.  "  I  should  be  seeing  you," 
she  said.  "  It  wouldn't  do.  Good-night." 

She  saw  that  she  had  missed  even  more  than  she  had 
imagined. 

And  yet,  before  Christmas  came,  she  was  at  that  self -same 
Consolidation.  In  October  a  lofty  refusal ;  in  December 
a  creeping  back  again  with  her  tail  between  her  legs. 
Where,  she  asked  herself,  was  her  pride  now  ? 

The  answer  was  that  that  had  been  in  October,  and  this 
was  December. 

When  she  told  Kitty  that  she  was  succeeding  to  Miss 
Levey's  place  Kitty  had  certain  things  to  say  about 
treachery  and  broken  friendships.  She  said  them  at  some 
length,  and  then  remarked  that  after  that  of  course  Louie 
could  hardly  expect  her  to  stay  with  her. 

"  You  never  liked  her,"  she  said,  as  if  not  to  like  Miss 
Levey  was  an  offence  in  itself.  "  And  I  know  you  tried 
to  keep  me  from  seeing  her.  Oh,  you  think  I  don't  notice 
things,  but  you  never  made  a  greater  mistake  ;  I  could  tell 
you  things  that  would  surprise  you  !  You  and  James 
Jeffries  have  got  some  game  on  ;  don't  tell  me  he  didn't 
give  her  the  push  ;  Evie  and  Miriam  both  say  so ;  oh, 
you're  a  deep  one,  Louie  Causton !  First  you  come 
between  me  and  Miriam ;  and  then  that  day  your  father 
came  and  I  was  asking  him  about  black  eyes  and  he  told 
me  you  could  have  one  without  having  one  till  you  came 
to  blow  your  nose — oh,  7  watched  you !  And  then  to  go 
worming  about  till  you  got  Miriam  fired  and  then  bag 
her  job  yourself !  Thank  goodness,  some  people  have 


THE   CONSOLIDATION  279 

better  ideas  of  friendship  than  that !  I  have,  for  one. 
Never  mind  the  bit  you  owe  me ;  you  can  pay  Carter  Pater- 
son  with  it  and  we'll  call  it  quits.  Perhaps  it  wouldn't 
be  troubling  you  too  much  to  ask  you  if  you  knew  where 
the  luggage  labels  are  ?  " 

So  Louie  let  her  go.  The  tract  she  received  by  post  on 
the  following  day :  "  God's  Eye  Everywhere,  or  No  Sins 
Secret,"  she  dropped  into  the  fire.  Even  if  Kitty  really 
was  groping  blindfold  on  the  track  of  that  stale  old  private 
execution,  Archie  Merridew  didn't  matter  now.  The 
question  had  already  entered  the  stage  of  blank  fatality. 


LOUIE  did  not  succeed  to  Miss  Levey's  chair  at  once. 
Somebody  else  got  that,  who  made  room  for  somebody  else, 
who  made  room  for  Louie.  And  her  arrival  at  the  Con- 
solidation appeared  to  be  the  signal  for  Jim's  almost 
immediate  departure  from  it — that  is  to  say,  she  saw 
him  for  three  weeks,  then  missed  him  for  some  days,  asked 
(in  another  week  or  so)  a  question,  and  was  told  that  a  fall 
of  some  sort,  supervening  on  many  weeks  of  concentrated 
work,  had  necessitated  a  trip  to  Egypt.  She  hinted  that 
she  would  like  to  know  what  his  fall  had  been,  but  nobody 
seemed  able  to  tell  her.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  never 
knew.  It  was  merely  an  act  of  spite  on  the  part  of  the 
stars  against  herself. 

The  ordeal  by  absence  began  again. 

This  time  she  was  able,  somehow,  to  endure  it.  She 
always  remembered  him  when  she  passed  a  shipping 
company's  office,  with  a  model  of  a  liner  in  the  window 
and  pictures  of  palms  and  pyramids  and  a  sphinx  not 


280  THE    STORY    OF    LOUIE 

altogether  unlike  himself  looming  up  out  of  the  tawny 
sand  ;  but  at  other  times  she  well-nigh  forgot  him  for 
whole  days  together.  She  could  hardly  question  her 
immediate  superior,  a  Mr  Whitlock,  about  him,  and  prob- 
ably Mr  Whitlock  could  not  question  Sir  Julius  Pepper — 
for  Mr  Pepper  was  made  a  knight  in  the  new  year.  Sir 
Julius  had  altogether  too  much  nous  and  urbanity  to  be 
questioned ;  he  asked,  not  answered,  questions.  Such 
an  indiscretion  would  have  stamped  Mr  Whitlock  himself 
as  a  man  of  a  barbarous  mind. 

The  place  itself,  its  plate  glass  and  marble,  its  gilded  lifts 
and  high  galleries  and  lofty  central  dome,  its  floes  of  desks 
and  counters  and  the  tessellated  floors  over  which  rubber- 
tyred  trollies  ran  to  the  strong-room  every  night — astonished 
Louie.  What  had  been  consolidated,  who  the  men  had 
been  who  had  reconciled  interests  so  great  that  the  mere 
overcoming  of  their  mass  and  inertia  must  have  been 
accounted  a  wonder,  she  never  really  knew.  Perhaps 
nobody  really  knew ;  perhaps  not  so  much  men  as  forces 
had  accomplished  that  task.  In  some  of  its  aspects  the 
concern  was  a  huge  amalgamation  of  mercantile  com- 
panies, mostly  railway  and  shipping ;  in  others  it  more 
nearly  resembled  a  Government  Department.  But  she 
knew  that  Jim  knew  all  about  it.  Jim,  Mr  Stonor  (Mr 
Whitlock's  junior)  told  her,  and  Sir  Julius,  had  planned  the 
whole  enterprise.  Acting  alone,  Mr  Stonor  said,  Jim 
might  have  done  the  work  and  then  have  been  shouldered 
out  of  the  rewards  by  such  bustling  men  as  Robson,  of 
the  Board  of  Trade,  George  Hastie  and  Sir  Peregrine 
Campbell,  and  others  to  whom  Louie  had  lifted  up  her  eyes 
when  she  had  kept  the  appointment-books  for  the  photo- 
grapher in  Bond  Street ;  but  Sir  Julius  had  seen  to  that- 
trust  Sir  Julius !  Sir  Julius  could  cut  a  throat  smiling 
with  the  best  of  them  ;  if  Jim  was  the  genius,  Sir  Julius 


THE   CONSOLIDATION  281 

was  the  impresario  of  the  enterprise.  And  by-and-by, 
from  the  frequency  with  which  Sir  Julius  and  other  poten- 
tates said,  when  puzzled :  "  What  d'you  suppose  Jeffries 
would  do  ?  "  or  "  Why  the  deuce  isn't  Jeffries  here  ?  " 
Louie  came  to  much  the  same  conclusion. 

At  first  she  was  set  to  work  with  twenty  other  girls  who, 
each  sitting  under  a  porcelain-shaded  incandescent  that 
burned  all  day  long,  tapped  typewriters  in  the  back  part 
of  the  building  that  looked  down  on  the  white-tiled  well ; 
and  for  some  weeks  it  was  a  question  whether  she  kept  her 
job  or  not.  For  she  was  dreadfully  inefficient,  and  daily 
expected  a  reduction  to  the  level  of  the  girls  who,  with  rigid 
"  dolly-caps "  clamped  round  their  heads,  manipulated 
the  rubber  worms  of  the  big  telephone  switchboard.  But 
again  her  improved  French  served  her  turn.  Miss  Lingard, 
who  sat  in  Miss  Levey's  chair  behind  a  screen  twenty  yards 
away,  was  absent  one  day ;  Mr  Stonor  haled  Louie  off  to  Sir 
Julius's  room ;  and  Louie,  following  Sir  Julius  and  a 
Frenchman  from  one  to  another  of  the  spring-roller  maps 
with  which  the  room  was  lined,  took  down  in  English  short- 
hand a  conversation  in  French  about  the  boundaries  of 
some  concession  or  other.  It  was  a  baldy  botched  job, 
but  it  was  initialled  and  passed  ;  and  Sir  Julius,  who  did 
not  so  much  open  doors  and  place  chairs  as  allow  it  to  be 
discovered  that  doors  were  opened  and  chairs  placed 
exactly  when  they  should  have  been,  looked  at  Louie, 
thanked  her,  and  presently  sent  for  her  again.  One  night 
she  had  to  wait  on  him  after  dinner  at  an  hotel,  to  make 
notes  of  certain  conversations ;  and  perhaps  Sir  Julius 
noted  the  little  dipping  of  Louie's  mouth  when  she  was 
summoned  from  the  ante-room  where  she  had  been  kept 
waiting.  She  wondered  whether  he  had  expected  she 
would  turn  up  in  a  dolly-cap.  A  little  after  that  he  asked 
her  out  to  dinner,  without  any  business  excuse  at  all. 


282  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

Presently  she  was  wondering  whethev  she  would  have  to 
walk  out  of  the  Consolidation  or  else  to  tell  Sir  Julius 
Pepper  not  to  be  a  fool. 

It  never  came  to  that ;  exactly  how  near  it  was  to  doing 
so,  Louie  never  knew.  It  was  her  Uncle  Augustus  of  all 
people  who  saved  the  situation.  His  name  came  up ; 
Louie  could  not  restrain  a  sour  little  smile  ;  and  "  Do  you 
know  Lord  Moone  ? "  Sir  Julius  asked.  "  Oh  yes," 
Louie  replied.  That  was  all.  Sir  Julius's  charming  smile 
never  varied.  But  the  case  was  altered.  Amanuenses 
of  sorts  are  one  thing,  ladies  with  private  information 
about  the  peerage  another.  Perhaps  Sir  Julius  was  a 
little  of  a  snob.  At  any  rate,  he  did  not  allow  his  little 
gallantries  to  interfere  with  business. 

So  Louie  became  a  quite  superior  writer  of  Pitman's 
shorthand.  The  weeks  passed.  Jim  still  remained  away. 

Nor  had  she  any  news  of  Kitty  Windus,  of  Miriam  Levey, 
nor  yet  of  Evie  Jeffries.  She  still,  however,  remained 
good  friends  with  Billy  Izzard.  It  was  from  Billy  that  she 
heard,  one  night  in  April,  something  that  filled  her  with  a 
vague  and  ineffectual  trouble. 

She  had  gone  up  to  his  place  in  Camden  Town,  intending 
to  spend  an  hour  or  so  with  him  ;  but  five  minutes  was  all 
the  time  Billy  had  to  spare  for  her.  He  was  just  off  to 
Victoria  to  meet  a  fellow,  he  said  ;  if  she  was  going  that 
way  they  could  go  together ;  and  she  needn't  think  he 
was  going  to  leave  her  in  the  studio  to  steal  his  sketches. 
"  One  of  our  heroes  just  come  back  from  South  Africa,  a 
fellow  called  Lovenant-Smith,"  he  said.  "  Coming  ?  " 

"  I'll  go  with  you  as  far  as  Charing  Cross,"  said  Louie. 

Before  she  left  Billy  at  Charing  Cross  she  had  learned 
quite  a  lot  about  his  friend,  Mr  Lovenant-Smith.  There 
was  nothing  especially  heroic  about  Roy's  homecoming  ; 
no  doubt  his  work  had  been  useful,  but  it  had  not  been 


THE   CONSOLIDATION  283 

fighting  ;  for  a  year  and  a  half  he  had  not  left  Cape  Town. 
He  had  now  come  into  money,  and  was  handing  in  his 
papers ;  he  would  hunt  and  manage  his  estate  somewhere 
down  in  Shropshire.  "  I  shall  go  and  stop  with  him,"  said 
Billy.  "  I  only  hope  his  horses  are  better  than  that  old 
yacht  he  nearly  drowned  the  pair  of  us  in."  And  at  Charing 
Cross  he  left  Louie. 

Roy  was  back  home,  then. 

Well,  it  made  not  one  atom  of  difference.  Jim  away 
was  all  to  her,  Roy  in  England  nothing.  No  doubt  it  was 
wicked. 

So  much  the  worse  for  Louie. 

Then,  not  a  week  later,  Jim  returned  from  Egypt. 

But  he  returned  only  to  go  away  once  more,  this  time  to 
Scotland.  She  saw  him,  for  just  one  moment,  coming  out 
of  Sir  Julius's  room.  He  was  very  brown,  but  much  thinner, 
and  he  had  a  new  overcoat.  He  went  straight  on  to  Scot- 
land that  day.  Mr  Stonor  said  that  he  intended  to  stay 
there  for  the  rest  of  the  summer.  "  Overwork,  of  course," 
said  Mr  Stonor. 

So  yet  another  absence  in  her  story  of  absences  began. 

She  filled  it  chiefly  with  work.  She  rarely  got  home 
before  ten,  and,  save  on  Saturdays  and  Sundays,  had  to 
leave  Jimmy  entirely  to  the  young  woman  who  had  suc- 
ceeded Celeste.  Billy  had  left  town,  and  had  probably 
gone  to  stay  with  Roy  in  Shropshire.  Of  Councillor 
Causton  she  now  saw  little.  She  wished  she  could  save 
more  money.  Jimmy  was  now  five  and  a  half  years  old. 

Then,  in  October,  Jim  returned  from  Scotland.  Louie 
half  expected  that  it  would  be  she  who  would  have  to 
leave  now,  but  this  did  not  happen.  Not  that  she  saw 
much  of  him  ;  he  did  not  come  until  eleven,  and  went  home 
again  for  tea.  Sometimes,  after  he  had  left,  she  or  Mr 
Stonor  had  to  ring  him  up  at  his  house  in  Well  Walk, 


284  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

Hampstead ;  for  the  rest,  he  remained  in  high  seclusion. 
She  was  glad  it  was  so.  A  half  absence  such  as  this  had 
not  all  absence's  pangs,  nor  was  his  half  presence  too 
much  perturbation  ;  she  could  take  a  command  with  calm- 
ness, and  she  had  nothing  but  commands  to  take.  She 
knew  by  this  time  that  he  had  a  second  child,  a  little  girl, 
and  that  seemed  definitely  to  close  and  bar  the  door  against 
any  wild  and  lawless  hopes  she  might  ever  have  enter- 
tained. And  so  things  went  on  until  early  in  December. 

The  thing  that  entirely  changed  their  course  may  have 
seemed  an  accident  to  Jim,  but  a  little  reflection  made  it 
plain  enough  to  Louie.  She  had  not  seen  Evie  Jeffries 
since  that  afternoon  when  they  had  met  at  the  step  of  the 
bus  opposite  the  Adam  and  Eve ;  and  Evie's  whole  face 
and  manner  gave  the  lie  to  the  story  she  told  when,  at  a 
little  after  three  o'clock  one  afternoon,  Louie  came  upon 
her  in  the  counting-house  of  the  Consolidation  itself. 
Near  the  table  with  the  calculating  machines  Louie  heard 
a  clerk  whisper :  "  Mrs  Jeffries  !  "  Forty  pairs  of  eyes  were 
furtively  watching  her  over  desk-rails  and  glass  screens. 
Some  of  the  clerks  even  made  errands  in  order  to  get  a 
better  view  of  her.  If  she  wanted  her  husband  she  had 
only  to  ask  to  be  taken  to  his  room  at  once,  but  she  stood, 
a  slender  figure  in  new  black  furs,  by  a  .waiting-room  door. 
Then,  seeing  Louie,  she  almost  ran  to  her. 

"  Oh,  how  are  you  ?  "  she  cried,  in  an  acquired  voice, 
touching  Louie's  hand  and  then  dropping  it  again. 
"  Really,  this  place  almost  terrifies  me  !  I  came  to  fetch 
my  husband  home  to  tea — the  car's  outside — but  of  course 
I  know  I'm  early.  I'd  such  a  lot  of  shopping  to  do,  but 
I  got  through  it  quicker  than  I  thought.  Well,  how  are 
you  ?  " 

It  seemed  to  Louie  that  she  did  not  do  it  very  well ;  the 
manner  of  the  grande  dame  was  the  last  thing  she  ought  to 


THE   CONSOLIDATION  285 

have  attempted.  As  Evie  put  up  her  hand  as  if  it  held  an 
invisible  quizzing-glass,  Louie  wondered  whether  she  had 
come  primarily  to  see  her  husband  at  all. 

"  Really,  this  is  stupendous  !  "  she  said.  "  I  wonder 
if  you  could  show  me  round — that  is,  unless  I'm  interfering 
with  your  duties  ?  Do  tell  me  what  these  things  are  !  " 

They  were  the  mechanical  calculators  ;  her  comment  on 
them  was :  "  How  quaint !  "  Followed  by  eyes,  Louie 
took  her  to  the  lifts ;  she  said  they  must  have  one  like  that 
put  into  the  new  house  they  had  taken  in  Iddesleigh  Gate. 
"  It  used  to  belong  to  Baron  Stillhausen — you've  heard  of 
Baron  Stillhausen,  the  famous  diplomat  ? "  she  said. 
From  the  lifts  Louie  took  her  to  the  department  where  the 
girls  in  dolly-caps  pulled  at  the  snaky  telephone  plugs. 
"  Oh,"  she  exclaimed,  "  so  this  is  where  you  talk  to  my 
husband  in  the  evenings  from,  is  it  ?  ".  .  .  .  Louie  had 
a  little  start.  .  .  .  She  answered,  however,  that  the 
private  line  was  in  another  place,  and  led  the  way.  No, 
Evie  Jeffries  oughtn't  to  attempt  this  kind  of  thing ;  her 
touch  was  too  heavy.  She  told  more  about  herself  than 
she  ascertained  about  anybody  else.  As  they  left  the 
private  line  Louie  somehow  had  the  impression  that  Evie 
Jeffries  was  counting  the  paces  from  Louie's  chair  to  her 
husband's  room. 

She  returned  to  her  own  place  slowly.  She  wished  Evie 
Jeffries  had  not  come.  Her  coming  seemed  all  at  once  to 
have  diminished  Louie's  composure ;  it  was  as  if  a  closed 
question  had  been  clumsily  opened  again.  "Where  do 
you  live  ?  I  should  like  to  come  and  see  you,"  Evie  had 
said,  as  they  had  parted  at  the  door  of  Jim's  room ;  and 
that  was  odd,  since  for  quite  a  number  of  years  Evie 
Jeffries  had  given  no  sign  that  she  wanted  to  visit  her. 
Kitty  Windus,  yes ;  Miriam  Levey,  yes ;  but  she  had  not 
wanted  to  see  Louie  Gauston.  But  she  wanted  to  see 


286  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

Louie  now,  and  had  come  that  afternoon,  Louie  was  now 
convinced,  expressly  to  see  her.  Why  ?  Had  Jim  been 
talking  ?  Had  Kitty  and  Miriam  Levey  been  talking  ? 
Louie  did  not  know.  She  only  knew  that  she  had  been 
settled  and  at  peace  and  was  now  so  no  longer. 

And  through  it  all  shone  an  unquenchable  recollection — 
the  recollection  of  how  she  had  once  stumbled  upon  Evie 
Soames,  not  in  wonderful  furs,  asking  for  her  lordly  hus- 
band, but  dressed  in  a  skirt  and  blouse,  cheek  to  cheek 
in  a  dark  back  room  with  a  fancy-stationer's  son. 

Evie  would  never  forgive  her  that  discovery. 

With  all  the  elasticity  gone  out  of  her,  she  resumed  the 
work  she  had  left  half-an-hour  before. 

But  as  she  lay  in  bed  that  night  in  her  little  flat,  Louie 
ate  her  heart  out  again.  She  hated  Evie  Jeffries.  She 
had  remembered,  too,  an  old,  old  slander — the  slander  to 
know  the  truth  about  which  Kitty  Windus  had  come  to 
the  Nursing  Home  in  Mortlake  Road.  Was  it  that  that 
had  brought  Mrs  Jefiries  to  the  Consolidation  now  ? 

Louie  tossed  and  tossed.  Oh,  she  cried  vindictively, 
if  it  only  had  been  so.  ...  But  to  have  to  submit  to  the 
indignity  of  Evie's  jealousy  and  not  to  be  able  to  give  her 
grounds  for  it !  And  Mrs  Jeffries  wanted  to  see  her  flat ! 
Well,  she  should  be  welcome.  Louie  would  hardly  be  at 
the  trouble  to  lie  about  things,  but  every  stick  of  furniture 
in  this  place  in  which  Jim  had  never  set  foot  might  silently 
lie  for  her  if  they  would  !  Would  that  be  to  drag  Jim  in  ? 
Well,  let  him  be  dragged  in  ;  a  woman  with  a  husband  like 
Jim,  to  be  jealous !  Why,  with  Louie  ready  and  glad  to 
lose  her  soul  for  him,  he  was  the  very  egotist  of  faithful- 
ness !  He  could  not  be  virtuous  without  damning  Louie 
with  his  grave  and  candid  looks  !  She  could  almost  have 
laughed  at  him.  When  all  was  said,  such  virtue  was  a 
byword,  and  the  story  of  Joseph  a  thing  for  a  quiet  smile  ! 


THE   CONSOLIDATION  287 

Then  Louie's  laugh  became  a  cry  aloud,  that  woke  Jimmy. 
Jimmy  went  to  sleep  again,  but  she  was  no  calmer. 

Bitter  as  spurge  was  that  old  story  of  hers  now,  and 
bitterer  still  the  only  moral  lesson  it  now  appeared  to  her 
to  have.  Oh,  no  doubt  there  was  a  deal  to  say  for  their 
conventional  morality,  but  a  pretty  moral  lesson  it  was, 
after  all,  that  you  repented  of  a  history  with  one  man  only 
when  it  forbade  a  second  history  with  another !  And  she 
swore  again  that  that  first  history  should  not  have  stood 
in  her  way ;  more,  far  more  than  that  was  his  own  head- 
strong virtue,  and  perhaps  that  was  not  all  either.  She 
had  been  born  for  him,  she  knew  it ;  he  had  had  never  a  secret 
from  her  save  those  large  open  secrets  that  scarce  a  woman 
shared  with  a  man  yet ;  his  hands,  that  could  take  life 
for  love,  were  made  to  hold  her.  She  knew  it  in  her  soul. 
.  .  .  But  huge  as  it  was,  he  didn't  see  it.  He  allowed  a 
pretty  face  to  blind  him  to  it  all.  "  Oh,  come,  come  !  " 
she  had  called  to  him  on  the  only  night,  of  all  those  nights, 
when  he  and  she  had  walked  together  ;  and  his  answer  had 
been  to  take  himself  away.  When  she  had  kissed  his 
shoulder  she  had  merely  kissed  the  spot  where  another 
woman's  head  had  lain. 

Oh,  if  that  slander  could  only  have  been  true  ! 

She  looked  at,  and  almost  tossed  aside  unread,  a  letter 
that  came  for  her  in  the  morning.  Not  for  a  single  moment 
had  she  slept,  and  she  wanted  no  letter  from  Roy — for 
it  was  from  Roy.  Still  she  might  as  well  read  it.  She 
did  so. 

Billy  Izzard  was  with  him  ;  it  had  come  out  that  Billy 
knew  her,  and  he  wanted  to  se  her.  "  I've  come  back  for 
you,"  the  letter  said,  "  and  I'm  not  going  to  let  you  go  this 
time.  Do  write  when  I  can  come  and  see  you.  Off  out 
now,  but  do  write."  She  threw  it  into  the  fire.  Marry 
Roy  ?  She  would  far  rather  commit  another  sin  than  such 


288  THE    STORY    OF    LOUIE 

a  reparation.  The  trouble  was  that  she  could  not  commit 
the  sin. 

That  morning  she  was  sent  for  by  Jim.  As  she  turned 
the  handle  of  his  door  she  was  ready  to  make  a  bet  with 
herself  about  what  he  wanted  her  for.  She  was  not  mis- 
taken. He  wanted  to  thank  her  for  showing  his  wife 
round  the  day  before. 

His  wife — always  and  for  ever  his  wife. 

"  If  you  feel  that  you  must "  she  said,  biting  her  lip 

with  humiliation  and  passion. 

"  It's  merely "  he  rumbled  heavily  on.  .  .  . 

As  if  she  needed  to  be  told  what  it  "  merely  "  was  ! 
If  he  cared  to  hear  it  she  could  tell  him  what  was  "  merely  " 
the  matter  with  his  wife  ! 

"  Oh,  must  you  ?  "  she  said,  quivering  under  the  torture. 

He  was  playing  nervously  with  a  pen.  "  Must  I  what  ?  " 
he  said,  not  looking  up. 

"  Must  you  do  this  ?  " 

He  looked  up.     "  Shut  the  door,"  he  said,     "  Now— 

She  listened  to  him  almost  scornfully.  Again  harping 
on  that  informal  execution,  as  if  he  had  been  right  and  not 
right,  and  as  if  it  now  mattered  one  straw  whether  he 
"  told  his  wife  "  or  not !  He  was  saying  something  about 
a  doctor  ;  the  doctor,  Louie  gathered,  had  said  she  mustn't 
have  another  shock ;  what  had  Louie — always  and  for 
ever  Louie — to  say  to  that  ?  Louie  clutched  at  her  skirt 
with  both  hands. 

"  Don't  you  know  ?  "  she  said,  clenching  the  skirt  hard. 

"  I  do  not." 

"  Then  ask  me  again  and  I'll  tell  you,"  she  threatened 
him. 

"  I  do  ask  you." 

Well,  if  he  would  have  it.  ...  "  She's  jealous,"  said 
Louie. 


THE    CONSOLIDATION  289 

The  smile  that  stole  slowly  over  his  face  set  her  almost 
beside  herself.  Even  Potiphar's  wife  was  probably  not 
smiled  at.  Louie  cut  short  the  easy  words  that  accom- 
panied the  smile. 

"  Then  if  she  isn't,  why  does  she  want  to  come  and  see 
me  at  my  home  ?  "  she  demanded. 

With  quite  remarkable  clumsiness  he  pretended  he  had 
known  his  wife  wanted  this,  and  smiled  again.  She  stamped 
on  the  ground. 

"  My  good  man "  she  broke  out  wildly.  .  .  . 

What  she  said  she  did  not  remember  very  clearly  after- 
wards. It  was  spoken  less  to  him  than  to  ease  her  own 
breast.  With  nothing  to  give  her,  he  still  could  not  hold 
his  tongue  nor  restrain  that  smile  when  she  told  him  his 
wife  was  jealous.  Jealous  ?  .  .  . 

Yes,  and  with  a  jealousy  that  could  now  never  pass 
away !  For,  out  of  absences,  silences,  refusals,  virtues, 
smiles,  everything,  Louie  had,  after  all,  secured  something 
that  all  the  smiling  in  the  world  could  not  take  away. 
She  had  the  secret  he  had  feared  to  share  with  his  wife. 
She  had  the  answer  to  every  riddle  in  his  riddle-haunted 
eyes.  His  wife  had  grounds  for  her  jealousy,  after  all,  had 
she  but  wit  enough  to  know  where  to  look  for  them.  But 
she  too  was  hopelessly  behind.  She  too  was  smelling  at 
cold  scents — telephones  and  visits  to  flats.  She  suspected 
a  gross  infidelity,  and  never  dreamed  of  the  existence  of  one 
so  fatally  searching  that  the  other  would  have  been  a  mere 
incident  by  comparison  with  it.  Little  dullard,  how  should 
she  ?  Her  conception  even  of  jealousy  was  as  limited  as 
everything  else  about  her ;  a  call  or  two  on  the  private 
wire  at  night,  and  she  was  round  asking  questions  at  the 
Consolidation  the  next  day. 

And  suddenly  Louie  saw — fool  that  she  had  been  not  to 
see  it  before ! — why  Evie  Jefiries  wanted  to  come  to  her 


290  THE    STORY    OF   LOUIE 

flat.  It  was  not  to  see  the  place  and  its  furniture.  It  was 
to  see  Jimmy. 

Oh,  if  her  boy  could  only  have  had  eyes  like  a  young 
lion ! 

VI 

WHEN  Kitty  Windus  had  come  to  Mortlake  Road  and 
had  refused  to  sit  down  until  Louie  had  told  her  the  truth 
about  the  wanton  slander  that  had  linked  her  name  with 
Jirn's,  Louie  had  dismissed  the  matter  with  amused  con- 
tempt. But  now  there  seemed  something  rather  terrible 
in  it.  Its  author's  stamping-out  notwithstanding,  for 
Evie  Jeffries  it  appeared  still  to  live.  What  had  brought 
it  up  anew  Louie  could  not  as  much  as  guess,  but  there  it 
seemed  to  be. 

"  So  that's  it  ?  "  she  muttered  to  herself.  "  In  that  case 
I  may  certainly  expect  to  see  you  again  soon.  You  won't 
say  anything  to  your  husband ;  he'd  only  smile  and  dis- 
believe his  eyes  and  ears  if  you  did — his  powers  that  way 
are  really  tremendous ;  but  you'll  probably  go  to  Miriam 
Levey,  who's  rather  a  gift  for  these  things,  and  Kitty'll 
back  her  up,  and  you'll  make  out  your  case  one  way  or 
another.  Very  well.  When  the  water's  troubled  there's 
the  best  fishing.  Pm  not  above  certain  things  now  ;  good 
gracious,  no !  I'll  find  a  reason  for  ringing  him  up  to- 
night, and  if  you  go  to  the  telephone  yourself  so  much  the 
better.  And  you'll  be  round  to  see  me  at  my  flat  before 
very  long." 

Evie  delayed  to  come,  but  Louie  knew  the  reason  for 
that.  Jim  was  moving  into  his  great  new  place  in  Iddes- 
leigh  Gate.  That  would  take  a  little  time.  Well,  there 
was  no  hurry.  When  she  did  come  Louie  would  be  ready 
for  her. 


THE   CONSOLIDATION  291 

Did  she  still  hope,  if  those  waters  could  be  sufficiently 
troubled,  for  a  catch  ?  Was  she  in  her  heart  now  as  resolved 
to  wreck  the  peace  of  Jim's  household  as  formerly  she  had 
been  to  preserve  it  ?  She  could  hardly  have  answered 
the  questions  herself.  It  was  Evie,  not  she  (she  told 
herself),  who  was  going  the  right  way  to  make  a  mess  of 
things ;  nevertheless,  she  had  only  to  remember  Jim's 
smile  to  feel  the  tigress  stretch  itself  within  her.  The 
loved  fool !  Could  he  go  all  lengths  for  love  without  think- 
ing that  a  woman  might  do  the  same  ?  Louie  could  not 
kill,  as  he  could,  smoothly  burying  the  consequences  after- 
wards, but  she  could  do  other  things  ;  and  she  was  not  sure 
that  she  couldn't  kill  too.  Ten  words,  it  appeared,  would  do 
it.  Jim,  who  did  not  fear  murder,  feared  those  ten  words ; 
well,  men  feared  one  thing,  women  another,  that  was  all. 
She  had  only  to  open  her  mouth  where  Jim  kept  his  shut. 

The  only  thing  was  that  it  did  not  seem  a  very  sporting 
thing  to  do.  Jim  had  taken  his  risks ;  she  would  be  taking 
none.  It  was  not  much,  perhaps,  but  it  was  enough  to 
give  her  pause. 

In  the  meantime  she  continued  to  ring  Jirn  up  frequently 
on  the  private  telephone. 

It  was  on  the  second  Saturday  afternoon  in  April  that 
Evie  at  last  paid  her  visit.  Louie  had  sent  out  Rhoda, 
Jimmy's  nurse,  for  the  afternoon,  and  was  herself  setting 
out  with  the  boy  for  one  of  their  precious  jaunts.  They 
were  half-way  down  the  four  nights  of  stairs  when  she  heard 
somebody  ascending.  She  and  Evie  Jeffries  met  on  the 
second  landing,  where  the  charwoman  ceased  to  whiten  the 
edges  of  the  stairs. 

It  seemed  to  Louie  that  Evie  Jeffries  must  have  a  sort 
of  lucky-bag  of  greetings  into  which  to  dip.  She  could 
hardly  have  been  surprised  to  meet  Louie  on  Louie's 
staircase,  but  she  drew  a  wrong  one  for  all  that. 


292  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

"  Well,  this  is  a  sur — a  pleasure  !  "  she  cried.  "  You 
see,  I  promised  to  come,  and  here  I  am  !  Don't  tell  me 
you're  just  going  out !  " 

"  No ;  we  were  only  going  to  the  South  Kensington 
Museum,  and  I  was  in  two  minds  about  it.  Come  up, 
won't  you  ?  "  Louie  replied. 

At  first  Evie  wouldn't  hear  of  it,  but  even  as  she  spoke 
she  had  ascended  another  step.  They  went  upstairs 
again,  and  Louie  put  her  key  into  the  lock.  "  You'll 
excuse  me  a  moment,  won't  you  ?"  she  said,  as  Evie 
entered.  "  In  there's  my  sitting-room." 

And  she  herself,  turning  along  the  passage,  entered  her 
bedroom  and  took  that  old  study  of  Billy  Izzard's  from  its 
paper  wrappings.  She  hung  it  up  on  its  old  nail.  If  Evie 
Jeffries  wished  to  see  her  flat  she  should  see  her  flat.  Then 
she  returned  to  the  front  room  that  looked  away  over  the 
trees  and  houses  to  Earls  Court. 

"  So  this,"  said  Evie,  as  she  entered,  "  is  your  little 
boy ! " 

"  Yes,  that's  Jim.  Won't  you  sit  down  ?  I'll  put  the 
kettle  on  and  we'll  have  tea." 

She  went  into  the  kitchen,  filled  the  tin  kettle,  and  set  it 
on  the  gas-ring. 

Evie  was  dressed  in  an  exquisite  .coat  and  skirt  and  an 
expensive  and  wrong  hat ;  silk  linings  made  whispers 
whenever  she  moved ;  but  Louie,  who  kept  her  good 
clothes  for  the  Consolidation,  wore  the  battered  old  grey 
felt  hat  and  long  grey  coat  in  which  she  had  passed  from 
studio  to  studio.  But  she  knew  that  Evie  envied  her  her 
distinction  of  motion.  Evie's  figure  was  pretty  and 
"  stock,"  charming  but  with  no  surprise — that  of  a  demon- 
strable beauty.  And  the  acquired  tones  had  come  into 
her  voice  again. 

"  How  ripping   up   here  ! "   she    approved.     "  Such   a 


THE   CONSOLIDATION  293 

splendid — view !  I  wish  we  had  a  view  like  it  in  Iddesleigh 
Gate ;  but  as  I  told  my  husband,  even  money  can't  buy 
a  view  in  London.  Delightful !  Have  you  the  morning 
sun  ?  " 

"  That's  in  my  bedroom,"  said  Louie.  "  How  did  you 
come — by  car  ?  " 

"  No  ;  I  felt  that  I  needed  the  walk.  Really  people  will 
be  forgetting  how  to  walk  soon.  Well,  at  all  events,  he's 
a  beautiful  boy  !  " 

Louie  saw  no  reason  why  she  should  not  say,  in  the  simple 
French  which  may  more  or  less  be  assumed  to  go  with  large 
houses  and  cars,  that  she  preferred  that  the  boy  himself 
should  not  be  told  so  ;  and  then  she  went  into  the  kitchen 
again  to  smile.  She  remembered  Burnett  Minor  :  "  Voo 
affectay  feele  !  "  she  murmured  softly.  Then  she  made  tea. 

"  I  suppose  you're  not  quite  settled  yet  ?  "  she  said, 
returning  with  the  tray. 

"  Settled  !    Why,  it  will  take  us  months  !  "  Evie  purred. 

"  Of  course.  It  seems  very  odd  to  talk  over  the  tele- 
phone, though,  to  a  place  you've  never  seen.  Sugar  ? 
Is  this  place  at  all  like  what  you  imagined  ?  " 

Again  came  the  ready-made  answer  :  "  Oh,  it's  really 
quite  too  delightful !  "  It  was  a  pity,  Louie  thought,  that 
Mrs  Jeffries  had  not  had  the  advantage  of  a  few  minutes' 
talk  with  Mrs  Lovenant-Smith  before  coming  to  see  her. 
The  Lady-in-Charge  at  Rainham  Parva  might  have  warned 
her. 

But  Louie  knew  that  already  her  very  chairs  and  mats 
and  brown-papered  walls  were  silently  whispering  to 
Evie  Jeffries.  She  might  talk  of  Iddesleigh  Gate,  but  she 
was  thinking  of  nothing  less  than  of  Iddesleigh  Gate. 
Perhaps  she  had  been  reassured  in  the  matter  of  Jimmy's 
eyes,  which  were  as  blue  as  Roy's,  but  her  own  eyes  were 
taking  in  everything  for  all  that.  Let  them.  Louie 


294  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

wondered  whether,  did  she  turn  her  back  for  a  few  minutes, 
her  visitor  would  question  the  child. 

"  The  Amaranth  Room  ?  "  she  presently  interrupted 
Evie's  flow  to  say.  "  Have  you  really  a  room  called  that  ? 
How  lovely  it  sounds  !  " 

"  Nearly  fifty  feet  long,  my  husband  says  ;  why,  it  has 
to  have  three  large  fireplaces,  as  well  as  the  radiators, 
but  of  course  there's  steam-heat  all  through  the  house.  It's 
delicious,  not  to  walk  into  cold  patches  all  of  a  sudden. 
And  all  the  windows  on  one  side  are  double,  so  that  the 
place  is  perfectly  quiet.  You  must  come  some  time.  Of 
course,"  she  took  herself  up,  "  our  other  house  was  quite 
a  poky  place  ;  my  husband  never  really  settled  there  ;  but 
at  Iddesleigh  Gate,  he  says,  he  can  really  stretch  himself." 

Louie  meditated  for  a  moment.  Then :  "  What's  really 
been  the  matter  with  him  ?  "  she  asked.  She  knew  that 
Evie  would  probably  not  believe  she  didn't  know ;  for  that 
reason  it  was  better  to  ask. 

But  she  got  no  information.  It  was  overstiain,  Evie 
replied  lightly,  and  then  on  the  top  of  that  he'd  slipped  one 
night  and  caught  his  head  on  the  corner  of  a  fender.  He'd 
slipped  because  he'd  been  really  fagged  out,  what  with 
starting  the  Consolidation  and  one  thing  and  another. 
"  But  he  looks  all  right  now,  don't  you  think  ?  "  Evie 
asked. 

"  Perfectly,  I  should  say,  from  the  little  I  see  of  him." 

"  Of  course  you  mostly  do  Sir  Julius's  work,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Mostly." 

"  It  must  be  great  fun  for  you,  being  taken  out  by  Sir 
Julius  sometimes.  My  husband  told  me  that." 

"  Quite  amusing." 

"  Miss  Levey  was  never  taken  out  like  that !  " 

"  No  ?     Have  you  seen  her  lately  ?  " 

But  again  Louie  got  little  information.    Included  in 


THE    CONSOLIDATION  295 

what  she  did  get,  however,  was  a  lie.  Evie  reported  that 
Miss  Levey,  now  at  some  Women's  Emancipation  League 
or  other  with  Kitty  Windus,  had  actually  been  going  to 
write  to  Louie  to  suggest  that  she,  Louie,  should  apply  for 
her  old  place.  Louie  gave  a  little  nod.  Of  course  Miriam 
Levey,  rather  than  own  to  defeat,  would  pretend  that  she 
had  left  the  Consolidation  of  her  own  accord.  Louie  rose. 

"  But  perhaps  you'd  like  to  see  my  place  ?  "  she  said. 
"  Not  that  I  think  you'll  find  it  very  amusing.  But  you 
can  see  it  if  you  like." 

"  I  should  love  it !  Is  Jimmy  coming  ?  Do  you  know, 
Jimmy,  I've  got  a  little  boy  like  you,  but  not  nearly  as 
big  ?  " 

"  Has  he  got  a  helmet  like  mine  ?  "  Jimmy  demanded. 

"  No ;  but  I  think  I  shall  have  to  get  him  one." 

"  You  stay  here,  Jimmy,"  said  his  mother  ;  and  she  led 
the  way  to  the  kitchen. 

Evie  praised  the  kitchen  and  its  meagre  appointments, 
and  was  then  shown  the  bathroom.  "  It  hasn't  a  crystal 
bath,"  Louie  said,  "  but  it  does  to  wash  in."  She  lingered 
in  the  bathroom  a  little  ;  she  was  thinking  of  another  bath 
and  certain  old  jokes  about  brown-paper  parcels.  Then, 
first  showing  Evie  the  bedroom  that  had  been  Kitty's, 
she  passed  to  her  own  room  at  the  back. 

Against  the  wall  on  the  left  lay  Jimmy's  bed ;  her  own 
was  across  the  room,  with  its  head  under  the  break  of  the 
mansard  roof.  The  little  built-out  window,  from  the  glass 
sides  of  which  rows  of  chimney-pots  could  be  seen,  faced 
the  door,  and  over  the  fireplace  on  the  right,  full  in  the 
light,  hung  Billy's  study.  It  was  the  second  thing  on 
which  Evie's  eyes  rested.  Louie  was  careful  not  to  look 
at  it. 

For  in  that  place  at  any  rate  she  was  going  to  strike  ; 
the  rest  might  fall  out  afterwards  as  it  won  Id.  As  she 


296  THE   STORY    OF   LOUIE 

turned  away  to  pat  Jimmy's  pillow  she  was  suddenly 
fighting  white  ;  the  little  creature  had  come  for  it  and 
should  have  it.  And  she  should  have  it  swiftly  and  with- 
out warning.  Even  as  Louie  had  turned  her  back  her 
heart  had  given  a  leap.  .  .  . 

For  up  to  that  moment  it  had  been  always  possible  that 
Jim  had  not  spoken  of  his  intrusion  into  Billy's  studio 
that  evening ;  but  there  was  no  doubt  now !  Jim — or 
perhaps  Billy  Izzard — had  told  her.  Probably  Billy. 
Probably  Billy  first,  and  then,  seeing  she  already  knew, 
Jim.  All  at  once  there  rushed  upon  Louie,  as  she  passed 
from  Jimmy's  bed  to  her  own  and  smoothed  the  coverlet 
of  that  also,  what  had  happened  later  that  same  evening, 
when  her  arms  had  supported  a  collapsing  Jim  in  a  Swan 
Walk  doorway  and  she  had  passionately  called  him  : 
"  Gome,  come !  Gome,  come  !  " 

She  spoke  quietly;  quietness  was  so  much  more 
destructive. 

"  This  is  where  I  get  the  morning  sun.  But  it's  very 
windy.  The  wind  blew  that  picture  you're  looking  at 
down  the  other  day."  Then,  without  either  pause  or 
change  of  tone  :  "By  the  way,  that's  what  you  came  to 
see,  isn't  it — that  and  my  boy  ?  " 

Simultaneously  with  her  blow  she  was  commenting  to 
herself :  "  That's  good-bye  to  you,  Sir  Julius ;  she'll  see 
I  don't  come  back  to  the  Consolidation  after  that ;  will 
you  have  Miss  Levey  back  again,  or  will  you  try  her  friend 
Miss  Windus  ?  I  don't  think  you'll  offer  Miss  Windus  an— 
er — increase  of  wages.  As  for  me,  I  suppose  I  can  sit 
again;  nothing  matters  now.  Or  there's  a  plainer  way 
still » 

The  next  moment  she  had  called  sharply :  "  Go  away, 
Jimmy,  till  I  call  for  you  !  Go  and  look  out  of  the  window 
for  Rhoda ! " 


THE   CONSOLIDATION  297 

Then  she  turned  and  faced  the  woman  who  had  taken 
two  quick,  running  steps  towards  her.  Insolently  she 
smiled  into  her  eyes. 

"  That  was  it,  wasn't  it  ?  "  she  said. 

Mrs  Jeffries  did  not  fight  white.  The  blood  had  thronged 
to  her  head  until  her  very  lips  seemed  swollen  ;  Miss  Levey 
could  hardly  have  spoken  more  thickly.  She  spoke,  too, 
in  a  passionate  ellipsis  than  which  Louie's  own  five  words 
did  not  go  more  straight  to  the  heart  of  the  matter. 

"  Oh,  you  would  if  you  could — I've  known  that  a  long 
time  !  "  she  cried.  "  Wouldn't  you  just — rather  !  You'd 
do  it  if  it  was  only  to  give  me  one  for  myself  !  1  know 

you." 

Louie  thought  she  rather  liked  her  for  making  a  fight 
of  it.  She  still  smiled.  "  Then  that  was  it  ?  "  she  said. 

Evie  flushed  even  more  deeply.  "  You  didn't  suppose 
I  didn't  know  all  about  that  absurd  meeting,  did  you  ?  " 
she  said,  with  a  still  darker  flush. 

"  Dear  me,  no.  I've  known  for  weeks  that  you  '  knew ' 
— if  we  mean  the  same  thing.  Perhaps  we  don't,  though. 
Anyway,  I  can  quite  understand  your  wanting  to  see  for 
yourself.  Miss  Levey  can't  tell  you  everything." 

Evie's  inability  to  speak  for  mere  fury  was  so  evident 
that  Louie,  after  watching  her  for  a  moment,  continued : 

"  As  for  that  picture,  naturally  I  wanted  to  keep  it.  I'm 
sure  you'll  see  that  for  yourself." 

Here  Evie  flamed.  "  '  Naturally  ! '  "  she  broke  out. 
Louie  gave  an  almost  humorous  shrug. 

"  Well,  surely  it's  natural  ?  " 

"  Natural !  ....  As  if  his  coming  in  wasn't  the  merest 
accident !  " 

"  Oh,  I  know  that ;  but  what  are  you  here  for  then  ? 
And  now  that  you  have  been  and  seen,  what  can  you  possibly 
do  about  it  ?  " 


298  THE    STORY    OF    LOUIE 

Evie's  lips  seemed  as  thick  as  if  a  bee  had  stung  them. 
She  broke  out  again. 

"  '  It ! ' — I  like  your  '  it,'  Miss  Causton  or  Mrs  Causton 
or  whatever  you  call  yourself !  " 

Louie  coolly  smoothed  the  folds  of  her  blouse.  "  By 
'  it,'  I  mean,  of  course,  my  loving  your  husband,"  she  said. 
"  As  you  guessed,  I  knew  that  you  knew  about  that  picture. 
But  it's  really  a  much  older  thing  than  that !  I  don't 
quite  know  how  old  ;  while  you  were  still  engaged  to  some- 
body else — as  old  as  that  anyhow.  And  as  it's  purely  my 
affair,  and  even  he  can't  stop  it,  I  wonder  what  you  can 
possibly  do  ! — I'm  '  Miss  '  Causton,  by  the  way." 

Louie  had  almost  a  genius  for  these  last  words  that  could 
be  taken  up ;  she  smiled  again  as  Evie,  taking  them  up,  said : 
"  Oh,  are  you  !  " 

"Well,  I  don't  think  I  need  be  longer  than  I  like, 
but  that's  neither  here  nor  there.  The  important  thing  at 
present  is  whether  you  were  wise  to  come  to-day  or  not. 
I  wonder  whether  you'd  let  me  give  you  a  piece  of  advice  ?  " 

And  that,  as  Evie  still  stood  speechless  with  rage,  might 
be  described  as  the  end  of  the  first  round.  There  was  a 
long  pause  during  which  the  two  women  stood  looking  at 
one  another.  Then  the  second  round  began,  with  a  rapid 
exchange  of  half  sentences. 

"  Advice !  Thanking  you  very  much  for  your  kind- 
ness  " 

"  Oh,  please  don't  raise  your  voice ;  they  aren't  double 
windows  here." 

"  Advice  is  cheap." 

"  Far  from  it,  believe  me." 

"  You  common " 

"  Sssh,  ssh,  ssh  !  Your  husband  wasn't  above  asking 
my  advice " 

"  I'll  take  very  good  care " 


THE   CONSOLIDATION  299 

"  Please — there  are  other  people  in  these  flats." 
"  Well,   is    noise    anything    new   here  ? "    said    Evie 
grossly. 

"  Oh,  you  really  shouldn't  say  those  things  !  " 
And  again  they  fell  back,  as  it  were,  for  breath.    It  was 
Louie  who  presently  resumed. 

"  I  don't  in  the  least  know  why  I  should  want  to  advise 
you,"  she  went  on.  "I'd  no  intention  of  doing  so  when 
you  came  into  this  room,  and  to  be  frank  I  still  half  hope 
you  won't  take  the  advice.  But  you'll  please  yourself 
about  that.  It's  this.  Don't  be  a  little  fool.  Go  home, 
and  don't  tell  your  husband  you've  seen  me  at  all.  If  you 
do  you'll  make  a  sad  mistake.  You  say  advice  is  cheap  ; 
well,  this  isn't ;  it's  fearfully  dear.  It's  not  the  first  time 
I've  tried  to  help  you,  and  I  really  haven't  strength  to  do  it 
any  more.  No,  don't  try  to  think  of  fresh  names  to  call 
me  either  ;  already  you've  called  me  common  and  told 
me  that  the  tenants  here  are  used  to  hearing  angry  wives, 
and  one  can  have  too  much  of  that.  So  go  home,  and  say 
nothing  to  your  husband  about  where  you've  been.  Believe 
me,  it'll  be  quite  the  best." 

It  did  in  truth  cost  her  more,  far  more,  than  she  had 
intended  to  pay.  The  greater  fool  she,  she  told  herself, 
but — she  gave  a  quick,  defiant  glance  round  the  bedroom, 
as  if  her  eyes  sought  somebody  who  dared  to  meddle  in  her 
affairs.  She  would  be  a  fool  if  she  wished ;  who  should  stop 
her  ?  This  jealous  little  scold  had  fair  warning  now ;  let 
her  take  it  and  go  while  there  was  yet  time.  Louie  had 
all  but  spoken  her  former  fianc&s  name  once ;  with  much 
more  provocation  she  might  forget  herself  and  involve  Jim 
too  in  a  catastrophe  of  ten  little  words  ;  and  she  wanted  to 
do  the  sporting  thing  after  all.  Let  Jim's  wife  take  her 
fill  of  that  canvas  of  Billy's,  then,  and  go.  Her  eyes  were 
glued  to  it  now.  As  she  looked  Louie  exulted  ;  it  had 


300  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

been  so — precisely  so ;  not  all  Evie  Jeffries's  looking 
could  alter  that  fact.  .  .  . 

But  suddenly,  as  if  even  in  this  gratification  and  triumph 
lurked  a  peril  best  avoided,  Louie  strode  to  the  canvas, 
took  it  from  its  nail,  and  set  it  on  the  floor  by  the  little 
fireplace  with  its  face  to  the  wall.  She  had  felt  the  tigress 
stretch  again.  To  put  that  thing  out  of  sight  was  the 
safest  thing  to  do.  She  turned  to  Evie  again. 

"Please  go,"  she  said.  ("Yes,  mother's  coming  in  a 
minute,  Jimmy.)  You  see,  he's  calling  me.  Forgive  my 
turning  you  out  like  this,  but  do,  do  go,  and  don't  tell  your 
husband  where  you've  been.  Good-bye." 

But  Evie  Jeffries  seemed  to  suspect  that  Louie  was  merely 
"  coming  it  over  her  "  with  something  indefinable,  essential, 
not  to  be  acquired.  After  all  it  was  she,  this  shabby,  grey- 
eyed  woman,  who  wrote  shorthand  for  a  weekly  wage,  and 
herself,  Mrs  James  Herbert  Jeffries,  who  lived  in  the 
mansion  in  Iddesleigh  Gate.  Perhaps  she  felt  herself 
challenged  ;  at  any  rate  she  plunged  her  hand  into  her 
lucky-bag  once  more. 

"  Oh,  there's  no  need  for  such  a  hurry,"  she  said  frigidly. 
"  For  one  thing,  I'm  a  little  particular  about  who  I  take 
my  advice  from.  You  needn't  think  I  don't  see  you're 
just  shutting  me  up  ?  " 

Louie  was  almost  hushing,  soothing.  "  Then  let  me 
shut  you  up.  You've  seen  all  you  came  to  see  ;  if  there's 
anything  else  you  want  to  know,  ask  me,  quite  quickly ' 

And  Louie,  in  her  eagerness  to  get  rid  of  her  and  to 
remove  herself  from  danger,  almost  gladly  submitted  to 
what  Evie  said  next. 

"  Oh,  of  course,  if  you've — an  appointment,"  she  said, 
with  a  toss. 

''  Yes,  I've  an  appointment — you  understand,"  she 
answered,  with  a  little  shepherding  movement  of  her  hands. 


THE   CONSOLIDATION  301 

But  the  next  moment  that  too  had  turned  into  some- 
thing else. 

"  Oh,  you  little  fool ! "  Louie  broke  out,  suddenly 
seeing.  "  You  don't  suppose  I'm  trying  to  get  you  out  of 
the  way  so  that  I  can  meet  him,  do  you  ?  Good  gracious, 
woman,  he's  never  set  foot  in  this  place  in  his  life,  and  I'll 
see  he  never  does  !  Perhaps  I  wanted  you  to  think  he  had 
— I  don't  know  what  I  thought — with  one  and  another  of 
you  I'm  getting  almost  past  thinking — but  that's  the  truth 
anyway  !  Now  are  you  satisfied  ?  Or  have  you  got  the 
idea  so  thoroughly  into  your  stupid  little  head  that  nothing 
will  shake  it  ?  If  you're  going  to  spend  your  Saturday 
afternoons  going  round  to  every  place  you  think  might 
possibly — 

But  the  denial  counted  for  nothing.  Evie  turned 
haughtily. 

"  Who's  making  the  noise  now  ?  And  why  should  I 
believe  you  ?  I  knew  before  I  came  you'd  say  that " 

"  Oh,  how  you  try  me  !  .  .  .  I  do  say  that.  There's 
nothing  else  to  say.  Do  you  think  if  it  was  any  other  way 
I  shouldn't  boast  of  it,  to  you  or  anybody  else  ?  Why, 
how  can  you  know  so  little  of  him — not  to  speak  of 
myself " 

"  You  needn't  talk  as  if  you  hadn't  already  had  the  cheek 
to  tell  me  you  loved  him  !  " 

"  Did  I  ?  Upon  my  soul,  I  sometimes  don't  know 
whether  I  do  or  not !  Say  I  don't — say  I  lied — say  I 
sometimes  almost  hate  him  as  much  as  I  do  you  and  you 
me." 

"  Oh,  very  likely,  the  grapes  being  sour,"  Evie  scoffed. 

"  Then  if  they're  sour ?  What  more  do  you  want  ? 

Isn't  that  enough  ?  And  isn't  it  more  than  enough  that  I 
let  you  stand  there  and  tell  me  so  ?  Oh,  I'm  doing  my 
best  to  warn  you — you'll  make  a  great  mistake  if  you  make 


302  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

me  try  to  get  him ! "  She  stamped.  "  Won't  you 
go?" 

Evie  too  stamped.  "  Oh  yes,  I'll  go,  and  so  will  you,  I 
promise  you — from  Pall  Mall " 

"  Anything  you  like — only  go " 

But  as  Evie  took  a  step  towards  the  door  a  little  accident 
turned  Louie  suddenly  as  white  as  paper.  Billy's  study 
leaned  against  the  wall ;  Evie's  skirt  or  foot  caught  it  as 
she  passed ;  and  the  canvas  fell.  Evie  gave  a  short 
laugh  and  pushed  it  with  her  shoe. 

The  dear  symbol,  nay,  the  very  evidence  of  so  many 
dreaoungs,  that  poor  thing  of  wasted  smiles  and  sighs  and 
tears,  the  pearl  from  the  heart  of  the  oyster-grey 

A  kick  of  her  rival's  shoe  was  treatment  good  enough 
for  it 

It  was  as  if  the  hives  of  her  own  breasts  and  the  heart 
beneath  them  had  been  trodden  on. 

Louie  stepped  slowly  forward.     "  No,  stop,"  she  said. 

She  stood  for  a  moment  looking  down  at  the  picture ; 
then  she  spoke  slowly. 

"  You  were  quite  right  to  come,"  she  said.  "  You  have 
reason  to  be  jealous." 

Evie  affected  not  to  hear,  but  she  heard.  Louie  con- 
tinued : 

"  A  moment  ago  I  told  you  not  to  tell  him  you'd  been 
here.  Now  I  want  you  to  tell  him.  He  may  even  be 
expecting  it.  You  see  we  have  spoken  of  it,  he  and  I." 

Evie  Jeffries  seemed  about  to  say  something,  but 
"  Just  one  moment,"  said  Louie  quietly 

She  placed  the  picture  against  the  wall  again,  face  out- 
wards. She  did  not  display  it  as  a  taunt  now ;  it  had 
served  its  turn.  As  if  Evie's  looks  had  cheapened  it,  she 
no  longer  wanted  it.  She  stood  looking  at  it. 

"  It  was  the  last  time  I  sat,"  she  murmured  to  herself. 


THE   CONSOLIDATION  303 

Even  that  pale  shadow  of  a  bridal  was  to  be  taken  from 
her. 

Well,  let  it  go. 

This  time  it  was  her  own  foot  that  kicked  the  canvas 
aside  ;  then  like  a  flash  she  turned — Louie  at  her  deadliest. 

"  I  suppose  you're  aware  you've  lost  him,  whether  he 
knows  it  yet  or  not  ?  "  she  demanded  truculently. 

Again  she  was  grateful  to  Evie  that  she  stiffened  up 
against  her.  Evie  smiled. 

"  Oh,  that  way — '  whether  he  knows  it  or  not ' — nobody 
minds  that  kind  of  losing  !  That  wasn't  what  you  were 
trying  to  make  me  believe  a  few  minutes  ago.  Thank  you 
very  much  for  the  tea,  not  forgetting  the  advice,"  she  went 
on,  "  and  if  I  might  return  the  compliment,  I  should  like  to 
give  you  a  piece  of  advice  too.  You  say  you  could  get 
married  if  you  like  ;  I'd  jump  at  that  if  I  were  you  !  You 
see,  there's  your  boy.  Quite  a  well-behaved  little  fellow 
he  seems — quite  a  superior  child — and  now  that  I've  seen 
for  myself,  I'm  perfectly  satisfied,  thank  you  !  " 

"  Then,"  said  Louie,  advancing,  "  I'm  going  to  spoil  your 
satisfaction.  Listen  to  me."  Her  eyes  were  like  saucers 
of  ice.  "  You've  lost  your  husband.  I'm  not  going  to 
tell  you  how,  but  I'll  tell  you  how  you  can  find  out.  You 
can  tell  him  what  he  wouldn't  believe  when  I  told  him — that 
you're  jealous.  You've  reason ;  ask  him  what  it  is.  If 
he  doesn't  tell  you,  he  daren't ;  if  he  does — ck  ! — it's  all  up 
between  you.  Do  you  suppose,"  she  said  slowly,  "  that 
you're  the  kind  of  woman  men  tell  things  to  ?  You,  who 
can  neither  trust  him  nor  be  trusted  by  him  ?  You,  who 
spy  on  him  when  his  back's  turned  ?  You,  who  listen 
while  a  miserable  little  Jewess  makes  mischief  for  you — f or 
I  guess  Miriam  Levey  sent  you  here  ?  You  think  you  love 
him  ?  Look  at  me,  I  say  " — she  rapped  out  the  words  like 
a  command — "  listen,  and  I'll  tell  you  my  idea  of  loving  a 


304  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

man  !  I've  messed  my  life ;  if  you  were  anything  but 
what  you  are  you'd  know  that  if  you  wanted  to  hurt  me 
your  way  wouldn't  be  to  point  at  my  little  boy  and  look 
round  my  bedroom  as  if  you  expected  to  find  pipes  and 
overcoats  there !  Oh,  that's  not  the  way !  The  way 
would  be  to  let  me  see  what  a  perfect  marriage  could  be  ; 
there  might  be  tears  in  my  eyes  then  !  But  what's  this 
you  show  me  instead  ?  Oh,  I  know  what  your  marriage 
is  without  telling.  It  would  take  you  and  a  woman  to 
make  a  wife  for  a  man  !  And  what  would  mine  have  been 
if  I  hadn't  thrown  my  chance  away  ?  What  should  I 
have  said  if  I'd  seen  what  you  think  you've  seen  ?  Listen  ! 
I  should  have  said :  '  Go,  if  you  like  ;  find  a  woman  if  you 
can  whose  love's  like  mine ;  search  the  earth  for  her ;  I 
give  you  leave,  and  I  shall  be  waiting  for  you,  just  the  same, 
when  you  come  back  and  say  there  isn't  one  ! '  But  had 

V  (/ 

you  thought  of  that  ?  Not  you  !  At  a  word  you're  off, 
asking  whether  this  and  that's  true,  because  you  don't 
trust  him ;  and  so  he  gives  his  trust  to  somebody  else  ! 
That's  what  you've  lost — and  you  don't  even  miss  it,  you 
know  so  little  of  love  !  " 

Evie  had  fallen  back  against  the  wall,  a  little  intimidated 
by  her  vehemence.  She  did  not  understand,  but  she  seemed 
to  apprehend  that  there  was  something  she  did  not  under- 
stand. Louie  broke  out  anew. 

"  You  know  love !  And  when  and  how  did  you  learn 
it,  pray  ?  As  you  learned  your  shorthand  and  things 
(oh,  you're  trying  hard  to  forget  you  ever  knew  them  !) 
at  that  place  in  Holborn  ?  Why,  you  failed  in  your  petty 
little  examinations  there ;  do  you  think  love's  easier  ? 
Something  you  get  out  of  a  text-book  and  answer  a  paper 
on  ?  Your  husband  might  know  if  you  don't !  He  knew 
just  what  those  other  lessons  were  worth,  but  he  doesn't 
seem  to  know  that  loving  has  a  genius  too — that  one  in  a 


THE   CONSOLIDATION  305 

million  has  it  as  a  gift  and  the  others  mimic  it  as  you're 
mimicking  people  in  your  dress  and  talk  now  !  And  you 
call  me  common — me,  who  told  your  husband  long  ago 
what  his  only,  only  chance  was !  Oh,  I  mustn't  say  any 
more  or  I  shall  say  everything !  And  you  toss  your  head 
and  say :  'Nobody  minds  that  kind  of  losing ! '  That's  your 
idea ;  that's  what  you  really  think !  Why,  your  mind 
wants  a  window  as  badly  as  that  little  dark  back  room  at 
your  Business  College.  .  .  .  Oh,  it  maddens  me,  the  sheer 
waste  !  A  necklace  of  love — pearls — and  good  gracious, 
a  bit  of  cheap  glass  in  the  middle  of  it !  Yes,  I  mean  you." 

She  was  walking  rapidly  up  and  down ;  she  struck  the  rail 
of  Jimmy's  cot  with  her  hand  as  she  passed.  Evie,  cowed, 
watched  her  from  the  wall.  Louie  stopped  before  her. 

"  What  do  you  do  for  him  ?  "  she  said  bitterly.  "  What 
do  you  give  him  ?  What  do  you  bear  for  him,  suffer  for 
him  ?  Don't  whimper — tell  me — you've  made  pretty  free 
with  me — put  that  handkerchief  away  and  tell  me 

But  instead  of  putting  the  handkerchief  away,  Evie 
burst  into  loud  sobs.  Louie  watched  her  remorselessly. 
Tears,  of  course — no  doubt  that  was  the  way  she  managed 
Jim 

"  That's  no  good  with  me,"  she  said  harshly.  "  I  want 
to  know  what  you  do  for  your  husband  besides  following 
him  about  and  asking  questions  about  him." 

Evie's  hand  moved  as  if  for  a  chair.  There  was  none. 
She  lifted  her  head,  walked  across  the  room,  and  fell  across 
Louie's  bed.  Louie  still  watched  her  unmoved. 

"  Well  ?  "  she  demanded  again,  after  a  quarter  of  a 
minute. 

Muffled  in  the  bedclothes,  Evie's  voice  came. 

"  I  give  him  all — all  I — have.  You  talk  as  if — as  if — I'd 
no  right — to  be  on  the  earth  at  all/' 

"  Well  ?  " 
u 


306  THE    STORY    OF   LOUIE 

"  Oh,  you  do — 7011  do  !  How — how  can  I  give  him 
more — than  I've  got  ?  Oh,  you  think  you  know,  but  you 
don't — you  don't  know  what  I've  gone  through — you've 
never  had  that  horrible  morning — when  I  was  to  have  been 
married — and  I  never  expected  Jeff  to  propose,  but  he 
did " 

"  Oh,  for  goodness'  sake,  get  up  !  "  Louie  cried. 

"  He  did — one  day — and  I  said  No  at  first,  but  he  caught 
hold  of  me.  .  .  .  And  even  then  I  was  jealous  about  Kitty — 
I  know  I'm  jealous — but  he  told  me  afterwards  that  I 
needn't  be  jealous  of  poor  Kitty  because  he'd  only  done 
it  because  he  thought  he  couldn't  have  me — I  know  I'm 
jealous — it  hurts  sometimes  so  that  I  can  only  cry  and 
cry " 

Louie  hadn't  wanted  this  at  all.  Again  she  cried :  "  Oh, 
get  up  !  "  but  Evie  continued  to  sob. 

"  And  then  when  Jeff  saw  you — that  night — at  Billy's — 
it  was  worse  than  ever,  but  I  kept  it  from  him.  I'm  not 
like  you,  Louie — it's  no  good  my  telling  myself  I  don't 
mind — even  though  I  knew  it  was  all  an  accident  it  was 
like  a  knife " 

"  Oh,  don't  lie  there  like  that !  "  Louie  muttered. 

"And  then  Miriam  Levey  reminded  me  of  that  thing 
Archie  had  said — but  he's  dead  now — and  I  know  it  was 
absurd,  but  I  did  think  he  liked  you.  You've — such  ways, 
you  see — I  expect  you've  been  a  governess  or  something  in 
swell  houses — I've  got  to  learn  them  too,  now,  but  Jeff 
says  I'm  really  very  quick  at  it " 

Louie  was  pacing  the  floor  now,  but  more  slowly  and 
with  downhung  head.  This  was  the  very  last  thing  she 
had  wanted.  More  than  ever  she  hated  this  unresisting 
piece  of  pulp  ;  but  strike  again  she  could  not ;  no,  not  with 
Evie's  soul  as  it  were  a  naked  picture  for  her  to  set  her  foot 
upon.  And  unless  she  did  strike  it  was  now  quite,  quite 


THE   CONSOLIDATION  307 

final.  To  take  it  lying  down  !  Gladly  she  would  have 
goaded  her  into  a  fresh  show  of  resistance ;  contemptuously 
she  would  have  told  her  to  stand  up  and  fight ;  but  the 
child — Louie  felt  her  to  be  a  child,  and  herself  a  faded 
woman — was  merely  beyond  all  decency  exposed.  Louie 
only  wanted  to  cover  her  up  again  as  quickly  as  possible — 
her  confessions,  her  abjectness,  her  appalling  artlessnesses, 
her  humiliating  appeals.  She  was  beginning  to  sob  once 
more. 

"  Oh,  don't  go  on  like  that ;  do  get  up  and  pull  yourself 
together  !  "  Louie  snapped. 

"  I  do  love  him — I  haven't  anything  else  to  give  him 
— except  my  life — he  could  have  that — you  couldn't  give 
him  more  than  that " 

"  I  could  stop  blubbering  for  him,"  said  Louie  curtly, 
resuming  her  walk. 

Yes,  it  was  final.  Evie  had  overcome ;  Louie  now 
backed  out  of  the  whole  affair.  If  Jim  liked  to  tell  her  of 
his  own  accord,  well  and  good  ;  it  still  seemed  the  only 
way  out ;  but  what  was  the  good  even  then  ?  Evie 
Jeffries  would  no  more  acquire  love  as  Louie  understood  it 
than  she  would  ever  acquire  the  nous  to  preside  without 
betrayals  at  Jim's  table  at  Iddesleigh  Gate.  And  if  Evie 
had  lost  Jim,  so  had  Louie.  By  her  silence  she  was  relin- 
quishing him  now.  She  saw  his  image  recede,  slowly, 
slowly,  as  if  it  had  been  indeed  that  ship  of  her  fancy, 
outward  bound,  her  own  vessel  already  condemned  for 
breaking  up.  Yes,  the  ship  was  drawing  away.  The  eyes 
of  her  spirit  tired  of  watching  it ;  surely  now  she  might 
turn  them  elsewhere  ;  but  no — there  it  was  still,  very 
small,  leaning,  no  doubt,  to  a  brisk  breeze,  but  hardly 
appearing  to  move.  .  .  .  No,  it  was  not  gone  even  yet ; 
that  sudden  anguished  searching  for  it  was  but  a  trick  of 
the  eyes ;  it  was  still  there — a  speck 


308  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

And  it  had  only  needed  six  words :  "  James  Herbert 
Jeffries  killed  Archie  Merridew." 

Suddenly  Louie  herself  sank  to  the  floor  by  Jimmy's  cot. 
Evie  heard  her  sinking.  She  rose  from  the  bed  and  ran  to 
her.  But  Louie  cried  aloud  and  put  up  her  hand. 

"For  God's  sake  don't  touch  me — go  now — and  say 
nothing." 

The  touch  of  Evie  Jeffries  would  have  been  more  than 
she  could  have  borne. 

"  Mother,  there  is  a  gentleman  !  " 

It  was  Jimmy's  voice  outside  the  door. 

Slowly  Louie  rose  to  her  feet.  "  Very  well,"  she  called 
shakily ;  "  talk  to  him  till  I  come.  Please  go  at  once," 
she  added  to  Evie. 

Evie  began :   "  I'm  sorry  I  said— 

"  Oh,  do  you  want  me  to  strike  you  ?  " 

"  Can't  I — do  anything — for  you  ?  " 

"Go/" 

She  heard  the  outer  door  close  behind  Evie  Jeffries.  By 
that  time  her  eyes  were  straining  at  a  wide  and  empty 
horizon.  , 


VII 


§a 

WHAT  followed  when,  after  a  few  minutes  during  which 
Louie  bathed  her  face  in  the  bathroom,  she  entered  her 
sitting-room  again,  fell  mercifully  flat.  Any  visit  would 
have  been  an  anti-climax ;  a  visit  now  from  Roy — it  was 
Roy — was  even  welcome  for  that  reason.  If  she  must  see 
him,  best  get  it  over. 

He  was  sitting  on  a  rush-seated  chair    with  Jimmy 


THE   CONSOLIDATION  809 

between  his  knees.  Jimmy  was  playing  with  his  watch. 
Save  that  the  rims  of  his  stolid  porcelain-blue  eyes  were 
pinkish,  as  if  with  suppressed  tears,  he  had  not  greatly 
changed.  He  wore  a  braided  morning-coat ;  his  silk  hat, 
stick  and  gloves  lay  on  another  chair.  His  watch  slipped 
from  his  boy's  hand  and  dangled  by  its  chain  as  he  rose. 
His  voice  carried  Louie  instantly  back  to  the  carpenter's 
shed  at  Rainham  Parva. 

"  It's  me,  you  see,  Louie ;  here  I  am,  like  a  bad  penny, 
always  turning  up." 

Louie  spoke  listlessly.  "  How  are  you  ?  I'll  get  you 
some  tea." 

A  minute  later,  with  a  "  May  I  come  in  here  ?  "  he  had 
followed  her  into  the  kitchen.  He  merely  got  in  her  way, 
if  she  could  be  said,  in  her  complete  exhaustion,  to  have  a 
way  at  all.  She  was  cutting  bread  and  butter. 

"  Louie,  old  girl,"  he  said  piteously  over  the  bread- 
board, "  why  didn't  you — tell  a  fellow  ?  " 

Louie  did  not  answer.  Then  Roy  chirped  up  a  little, 
as  if  something  might  now,  past  all  discussion,  be  taken  for 
granted. 

"  Well,  this  settles  it,"  he  said.  "  Clinches  it  entirely. 
You  know  what  I  mean." 

Louie  did  know.  "  Just  take  the  kettle  off,  will  you  ?  " 
she  said. 

"So  you  see  that's  settled — clinched,"  said  Roy,  quite 
bustling.  "  Right  you  are.  The  only  question  now  is ; 
how  soon  can  you  pack  up." 

"  We'll  talk  about  it  presently,  if  there's  anything  to  say. 
There  isn't,  though.  Will  you  carry  the  tray  in  ?  " 

Jimmy  ran  straight  to  his  knee  again.  "  May  I  give 
him  some  jam  ?  "  said  Roy ;  and  then  he  added  to  the  boy  •; 
"  Oh,  come,  don't  mess  yourself  up  with  it  like  that !  " 
Louie  remembered  his  account  of  the  accident  with  the 


310 

centre-board :  "  Jam  and  all  the  lot !  "  but  she  did  not 
smile. 

"  Rhoda  will  be  here  in  a  few  minutes,  then  I'll  have  a 
short  walk  with  you,"  she  said.  "  I've  nothing  to  say, 
though." 

Presently  Ehoda  did  come  in,  and  Louie  put  on  her  hat 
and  old  grey  coat.  They  went  out  and  walked  slowly 
across  Eelbrook  Common  towards  Walham  Green.  There 
she  told  Roy  that  his  return  could  make  no  difference 
whatever.  "  Don't  talk  such  stufl,  Louie,"  he  said ;  "  sit 
down."  They  sat  down  on  a  bench  on  the  side  of  the  com- 
mon past  which  the  District  Railway  runs  and  talked. 

The  air  rang  with  the  shouts  of  poorly  clad  children  at 
their  Saturday  afternoon  play ;  the  common  was  a-crawl 
with  urchins.  Into  Roy's  honest,  statue-like  eyes  tears 
had  come ;  none  came  into  Louie's.  She  only  shook  her 
head. 

"  You're  only  lacerating  me,"  she  said. 

"  But,  Louie— 

"  You  want  to  lacerate  me  ?  " 

"  But — the  little  chap "  Roy  said  presently,  with 

a  gulp.  "  Will  you  tell  a  fellow  how  you  manage  ?  " 

That  Louie  did  not  mind  doing,  more  or  less.  "  And 
now  I  must  go  back,"  she  said,  rising. 

"  I'll  walk  back  a  bit  of  the  way  with  you.  I'm  not 
going  to  let  you  go  like  this." 

At  the  little  drinking-fountain  she  stopped.  "Don't 
make  it  harder,"  she  said.  He  had  been  indicating  the 
rabble  of  children. 

"  But  look  at  'em,  poor  little  beggars ! "  he  said. 
"  Dash  it  all,  I'm  not  just  blowing  off — I  could  do  such  lots 
for  him — he  could  ride — and  shoot — and  fish — and  I've 
a  corking  little  pony  at  grass  now."  He  mentioned  these 
things  one  after  the  other,  slowly,  as  they  occurred  to  him. 


THE   CONSOLIDATION  311 

Louie  groaned  inwardly,  but  aloud  she  said:  "Please 
don't  come  any  farther.  Good-bye." 

"  But  I  may  come  again  ?  You  see,  I  jolly  well  know 
I  could  persuade  you." 

"  I  shall,  though — you  bet,"  Roy  announced. 

She  left  him,  wondering  whether  it  would  have  made  any 
difference  at  all  had  he,  in  asking  her  to  marry  him,  told 
her  once,  even  once,  that  he  loved  her. 

But  she  did  not  return  home.  Instead,  she  walked  past 
the  block  of  flats,  crossed  Putney  Bridge,  and  sought  her 
old  Nursing  Home  in  Mortlake  Road.  As  a  drunkard 
might  pant  for  a  drink,  so  now  in  her  extremity  she  wanted 
to  hear  gaiety  and  laughter  and  talk.  Though  she  paid  for 
it  in  prostration  afterwards,  she  felt  that  without  some  such 
intermission  she  could  never  get  through  the  night.  And 
to-morrow  was  that  dead  day,  Sunday.  Further  than  that 
she  did  not  see  ;  beyond  the  anodyne  of  an  ordinary  human 
laugh  she  did  not  inquire.  It  seemed  to  her  a  matter  of  the 
last  moment  to  herself  that  Miss  Dot  and  Miss  Cora  should 
be  at  home  ;  if  they  were  not,  she  felt  that  she  must  walk 
straight  into  a  public -house,  as  a  man  might,  and  get 
herself  something  to  drink. 

But  Miss  Cora  and  Miss  Dot  were  at  home ;  they  had 
just  come  in  from  a  matinee.  They  made  an  onslaught  on 
Louie.  Had  she  seen  the  piece  ?  Oh,  the  funniest  thing  ! 
They  really  had  had  some  luck  at  the  theatre  at  last ! 
The  last  time  it  had  been  a  slum  piece,  all  heartstrings  and 
gutter-snipes ;  and  the  time  before  that — would  Louie 
believe  it ! — just  when  they  had  expected  to  see  frocks  and 
dancing  and  suchlike,  the  curtain  had  gone  up  on  a  dentist's 
parlour  !  Two  half-crowns  for  seats  in  the  pit  for  that  ! 
It  was  almost  like  paying  money  to  go  and  see  another 
Nursing  Home  ! 


312  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

"  But  give  the  poor  girl  some  tea — what  are  we  thinking 
of !  "  said  Miss  Cora. 

"  No,  thanks — I've  given  two  people  tea  this  afternoon 
already,"  said  Louie.  "  Tell  me  about  the  play." 

And,  both  speaking  at  once,  they  told  her  about  the 
play — such  a  frock  as  Ellaline  Terriss  had  worn  ! — an 
e-wor-mous  pink  hat,  pink  like  a  rabbit's  ear,  and  a  frock, 
chiffon  over  pink  satin. 

Ah  !    That  was  better  ! 

"  But  where's  my  bonnie  boy  ?  "  Miss  Cora  demanded. 

"  Oh,  let's  show  her  the  new  one,  the  little  Crowley 
baby !  " 

The  little  Crowley  baby  was  brought  in.  ... 

"  May  I  invite  myself  to  supper  ?  "  Louie  asked  by-and- 
by. 

"  Oh,  do  stop  !  " 

"  Then  give  me  some  stout  or  something.  I'm  not 
sleeping  very  well." 

"  Oh,  we'll  see  that's  all  right— 

And  when,  at  ten  o'clock,  Louie  left,  it  was  with  a 
sleeping  preparation  in  her  pocket.  She  took  it  in  bed. 
It  did  its  work.  Half  Sunday  had  passed  when  next  she 
awoke. 

On  the  Sunday  afternoon  she  went  with  Jimmy  and 
Rhoda  to  Bishops  Park ;  then,  packing  them  off  home, 
she  crossed  the  bridge  again  and  took  the  bus  to  Buck's. 
At  Buck's  she  again  stayed  until  ten,  and  she  smiled  as, 
on  the  way  home  again,  she  remembered  the  little  party 
to  which  Chaff  'had  once  taken  her,  pigtail  and  all.  If 
Chaff  had  had  a  little  party  that  night  she  would  have 
invited  herself  to  it ;  it  would  have  been  something  to  do. 
Although  it  was  half-past  eleven  when  she  reached  her 
own  door  she  was  not  in  the  least  tired  ;  had  she  not  slept 
until  well  after  midday  ?  She  walked  back  to  Putney 


THE   CONSOLIDATION  318 

Bridge  again.  There  a  man  spoke  to  her.  She  wondered 
what  he  would  have  said  had  she  stopped ;  it  would  have 
been  amusing  to  know.  She  felt  that  she  had  not  had 
enough  amusement.  She  wished  she  could  have  gone 
back  to  the  Business  School  in  Holborn  again.  That  had 
been  amusing.  Mr  Mackie  had  been  very  amusing.  One 
of  his  songs,  he  had  said,  that  about  the  Gorgonzola  Cheese, 
never  failed  to  create  merriment. 

She  hummed  as  much  as  she  could  remember  of  the  air 
of  it  as  she  walked,  and  took  two  more  of  Miss  Cora's 
sleeping-tablets  before  going  to  bed. 

She  found,  too,  an  entirely  unexpected  amount  of  amuse- 
ment at  the  Consolidation  on  the  Monday  morning.  Not 
that  everything  was  not  much  as  usual ;  the  routine  was 
the  same ;  but  a  quite  comic  spirit  seemed  to  pervade  the 
whole  place.  Lacking  a  Mr  Mackie,  Sir  Julius,  dapper 
and  perfect  in  his  aplomb,  who  had  thought  of  asking  her 
to  be  his  mistress  but  had  found  a  more  profitable  use  to 
put  her  to,  seemed  somehow  as  funny  as  needs  be  ;  she 
wondered  she  had  not  noticed  it  before.  It  happened  that 
Mr  Stonor  had  to  rebuke  one  of  the  telephone  girls  that 
morning ;  there  was  diversion  in  the  way  in  which  the 
girl  tossed  her  dolly-capped  head  and  told  him  that  she 
would  talk  to  her  "  boys "  if  she  liked.  Quite  right ; 
that  was  the  way  to  take  things,  as  a  joke.  And  Mr 
Whitlock  was  portentously  funny  over  a  nought  or  so  that 
had  strayed  into  a  pile  of  figures ;  and  the  glazed  screen  that 
marked  Louie's  superiority  to  the  other  girls  in  the  same 
room  seemed  inanimately  funny,  and  Jim  himself  was  funny, 
when  you  came  to  think  of  it,  sitting  invisible  there  in  his 
room  with  people  coming  and  going  all  the  time,  as  if  the 
earth  would  have  ceased  to  revolve  on  her  axis  or  the  sun 
have  omitted  to  rise  if  Jim  had  not  rung  bells  and  jotted 
his  initials  on  his  bits  of  paper.  And  funnier  than  every- 


314  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

thing  else  was  the  fact  that  Louie  should  be  there  at  all. 
She  laughed  outright  when,  at  nine  o'clock  that  night  (she 
had  been  kept  on  account  of  some  urgent  joke  or  other),  she 
stepped  from  the  upholstered  lift  and  out  into  Pall  Mall. 

Again  she  wished  that  Chaff  had  had  a  little  party  some- 
where. Jim,  she  understood  from  Mr  Stonor,  was  giving 
a  party  presently,  not  a  little  one,  but  a  large,  probably  a 
screamingly  funny,  one.  But  its  humour  would  probably 
be  lost  on  Jim.  Jim  did  not  always  see  jokes ;  that  was 
where  Jim  had  made  the  mistake  ;  he  needed  somebody 
to  point  them  out  to  him.  His  wife,  being  part  of  the 
comedy  herself,  naturally  could  not  do  so  ;  she  cried  when 
she  should  have  laughed  ;  she  had  no  "  kick,"  no  "  buck," 
in  her.  It  was  a  pity,  for  Jim  needed  these  things,  and 
ought  to  have  married  a  woman  who  had  them.  Well,  it 
was  rather  late,  but  not  too  late  for  Louie  to  go  into  a 
shilling  gallery  somewhere.  To-morrow,  if  she  could  get 
away  early,  she  would  go  up  to  Carnden  Town  and  see 
Billy.  Billy  was  a  joke  too,  spending  whole,  real  days  in 
making  artificial  coloured  shapes  on  canvases  or  solemnly 
scratching  his  copper  plates.  One  of  the  best  things  Billy 
had  ever  done  a  woman  had  humorously  kicked  aside 
with  her  foot.  That  showed  what  these  things  were  worth 
in  the  big,  big  world.  Of  course  a  sense  of  humour  was 
really  a  sense  of  proportion.  The  dreadful  lack  of  it 
showed  when  people  magnified  trifles  so.  Yes,  she  would 
go  and  see  Billy  to-morrow.  To-night,  the  theatre  gallery. 

She  found  Billy  on  the  following  evening,  still  etching, 
the  humorous  fellow,  but  amusingly  grave  too.  Perhaps 
he  had  heard,  or  guessed,  something  from  Roy.  He  was 
dissolving  the  ground  from  a  plate  ;  Louie  wondered  what 
the  curiously  sweet-smelling  fluid  he  was  using  was ;  and 
then  she  remembered.  She  had  smelt  that  same  smell 
when  Jimmy  had  been  born — which  event  also,  by  the  way, 


THE   CONSOLIDATION  315 

had  been  the  consequence  of  a  lark.  She  remembered,  too, 
the  wonderful,  releasing  sleep  that  heavy-smelling  stufi 
had  given  her.  It  might  be  rather  a  useful  thing  to  know 
where  to  find  that  stuff ;  it  was  necessary  to  Louie's  enjoy- 
ment of  the  world  and  its  humour  that  she  should  sleep  at 
night.  It  struck  her  as  a  very  happy  chance  that  chloro- 
form should  be  used  in  the  practice  of  etching.  She 
admitted  that  it  was  rather  a  shame  to  steal  from  Billy 
again,  but  she  felt  that  she  now  needed  that  wonderful, 
releasing  sleep  even  more  than  when  Jimmy  had  been  born. 

An  hour  later  she  left  Billy's  with  the  ribbed  blue  bottle 
in  her  pocket. 

The  remainder  of  the  week  also  was  gay ;  so  was  the  next 
week,  though  perhaps  with  a  slightly  diminishing  gaiety. 
But  the  level  was  restored  again  when  Koy  once  more 
turned  up  at  her  flat,  again  on  a  Saturday  afternoon. 
Really  she  could  have  laughed,  as  they  say,  fit  to  split. 
Roy,  who  seemed  to  think  that  you  could  ask  a  woman 
to  marry  you  without  the — formality,  call  it — of  telling  her 
you  loved  her  !  It  was  not  for  Louie  to  spoil  the  sport  by 
pointing  out  the  inessential  omission.  Not  that  she 
hesitated  at  all  now ;  she  had  only  to  think  of  how  it 
might  have  read  in  the  paper. :  "  At  Saint  So-and-So's, 
on  such  and  such  a  date,  by  a  Reverend  Statue,  assisted 
by  another  Reverend  Effigy,  a  Tanagra  Figure,  to  a  trodden- 
on  Painting  by  Billy  Izzard,"  etc.,  etc.  Oh  no.  That 
wasn't  loving 

There  was  no  doubt  that  Roy  loved  Jimmy,  however ;  and 
that  was  perhaps  a  little  more  serious.  He  had  handed  in 
his  papers  ;  he  could  provide  for  Jimmy  ;  there  was  riding, 
and  shooting,  and  fishing,  and  the  corking  little  pony  ; 
but  ...  it  was  impossible,  of  course.  Jimmy  was  Louie's 
and  nobody  else's.  If  Jimmy  must  play  on  Saturday 
afternoons  with  the  rabble  on  Eelbrook  Common,  well,  he 


316  THE   STORY   OF   LOUIE 

must ;  Louie  would  do  all  for  him  that  she  could.  It  was 
a  pity — especially  about  the  pony.  It  disturbed  Louie  a 
little.  It  disturbed  her,  in  fact,  so  much  that  that  night 
she  remembered  something  she  had  forgotten  about  for 
ten  days  and  more — the  blue  ribbed  bottle  she  had  stolen 
from  Billy.  But  as  she  had  left  it  in  her  drawer  at  the 
Consolidation  she  had  to  sleep  as  best  she  could  without  it. 
Perhaps  it  was  just  as  well.  It  was  not  a  good  habit.  She 
wondered  whether  Billy  had  missed  the  bottle  ;  she  would 
go  up  again  and  see,  taking  that  old  painting  with  her. 
That  would  square  accounts  a  little.  Certainly  it  was  a 
shame  to  loot  Billy  like  that. 

She  went  up  to  Billy's  with  the  study.  Billy  received  it 
absently.  And  she  was  glad  that  Billy  had  a  code,  for  he 
was  grave  again,  and  seemed  all  but  on  the  point  of  talking 
seriously  to  her,  code  or  none.  But  it  blew  over.  He  asked 
her  whether  she'd  noticed  him  with  a  bottle  of  chloroform 
one  night ;  he'd  lost  one ;  stupid  thing  to  be  careless 
about ;  must  be  somewhere  ;  had  Louie  seen  him  with  it, 
cleaning  a  plate  ? 

"  No,"  said  Louie. 

"  Well,  it  may  turn  up.  Thanks  for  the  canvas.  To  tell 
you  the  truth  I  rather  wanted  it.  Merely  as  painting  it's — 
knuk  /  "  Billy  made  a  delectable  little  foreign  gesture. 

"  I'm  no  judge  of  things  as  painting,"  said  Louie.  "  And 
—I  say— Billy " 

"What?" 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  haven't  changed  my  mind  about 
not  sitting — if  you  asked  me  very  nicely — 

But  Billy  looked  gravely  at  her  again.  "  Oh,  it  doesn't 
matter.  I'd  rather  you  didn't.  I  think  I  can  manage. 
You'd  do  far  better " 

He  looked  hard  at  her,  but  the  code  held. 

"  To  do  what  ?  "  said  Louie. 


THE   CONSOLIDATION  317 

"  Well,  not  to  sit,"  said  Billy,  turning  away. 

Louie  felt  ridiculously  touched  ;  nevertheless,  much  as 
she  liked  his  loyalty,  she  wasn't  going  to  talk  about  Roy. 
"  Thanks,  Bill,"  she  said  simply.  "  You're  a  good  sort." 
And  there  the  matter  dropped.  Neither  for  Billy  nor  for 
anybody  else  did  she  ever  sit  again. 

It  seemed  strange  that  so  slight  a  thing  as  an  indisposition 
of  Mr  Stonor  should  obscure  the  mock-sun  of  Louie's 
gaiety  as  if  a  vapour  had  crept  across  it ;  but  so  it  was. 
Occasionally  urgent  messages  were  taken  to  Iddesleigh 
Gate  at  night ;  usually  Mr  Stonor  took  them  ;  but  one  day 
Mr  Stonor  left  at  lunch-time  and  did  not  come  back  that  day. 
Sir  Julius  himself,  who  had  had  dinner  sent  in  that  night 
from  a  restaurant,  sent  for  Louie  and  gave  her  certain 
papers  and  instructions.  As  soon  as  she  learned  the 
errand  she  asked  whether  nobody  else  could  go  instead. 
She  invented  an  improbable  engagement. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  Sir  Julius  said,  "  but  I  want  Whitlock — I 
shall  have  to  wait  here  myself  till  you  come  back.  If  you 
could  go,  and  give  them  to  Mr  Jeffries  himself — nobody 

else "    That  was  as  near  as  Sir  Julius  ever  came  to 

a  direct  command. 

So,  as  Evie  Jeffries  had  seen  Louie's  home,  Louie  was  now 
to  see  hers. 

She  went  reluctantly,  by  bus,  changing  at  the  bottom  of 
Park  Lane.  For  days  she  had  not  seen  Jim  ;  she  did  not 
want  to  see  him  now.  Therefore,  though  go  she  must,  she 
would  not  sit  down  ;  she  would  not  lift  her  veil ;  she 
would  be  in  and  out  of  his  house  again  as  quickly  as  ever 
she  could.  She  passed  the  Marble  Arch,  and  at  Lancaster 
Gate  got  down  and  walked.  She  reached  Jim's  vast  and 
tomblike  house. 

At  the  word  "  Consolidation  "  the  man  who  opened  the 
door  said :  "  This  way,  please,"  and  led  her  along  a  low- 


318  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

lighted  hall,  round  a  staircase  the  outspread  double  wings 
of  which  resembled  some  huge  alighting  architectural  bird, 
and  along  a  narrower  passage  to  the  library.  At  the  touch 
of  a  switch  the  room  broke  into  a  softly  masked  glow  of 
light.  "  Please  to  sit  down,"  said  the  servant ;  but  Louie 
stood  by  the  great  writing-table,  looking  towards  the  door. 
Evie  had  taken  stock  of  her  dwelling ;  Louie  looked  only 
towards  the  door  of  Jim's  library. 

Then,  as  the  door  was  opened,  she  pushed  up  her  veil 
after  all.  Jim  came  in. 

He  placed  a  chair  for  her ;  she  still  refused  to  sit.  She 
continued  to  stand  even  when  it  appeared  that  the  papers 
she  had  brought  would  require  some  examination.  As  she 
stood,  a  bell,  not  unlike  that  of  a  muffled  telephone,  sounded 
for  a  moment  and  then  ceased.  It  was  followed  by  a  tap 
on  the  door. 

"  Come  in,"  said  Jim,  without  looking  up. 

Evie  Jeffries  entered,  dressed  as  if  for  a  State  ball. 

Even  had  Louie  not  seen  her  face,  the  touch  of  her  hand 
would  have  told  her  what  had  happened.  Evie  was  back 
again  exactly  where  she  had  been ;  the  only  difference  was 
that  she  now  hated  Louie  the  more  that  she  had  abased 
herself  before  her.  Many  times  on  that  other  Saturday 
afternoon  Louie  had  begged  Evie  to  go  ;  now  she  longed 
to  fly  herself.  After  another  minute  Jim  put  it  into  her 
power  do  to  so.  He  rose  and  returned  the  signed 
papers. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  and  added,  turning  to  Evie,  "  I 
don't  know  whether  Miss  Causton's  had  supper  ?  " 

Evie's  face  lighted  up  as  artificially  as  if  there  too  a 
switch  had  turned  up  masked  lights. 

"  Yes ;  won't  you  let  me  have  them  lay  a  tray  for 
you,  '  Miss '  Causton  ?  It  won't  be  any  trouble,"  she 
said. 


THE   CONSOLIDATION  319 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  Louie.     "  Please  don't  come  to 
the  door,  Mr  Jeffries." 

He  came,  however. 

"  Good-night,"  he  said,  as  the  door  was  held  open  for  her 
to  pass  out. 

"  Good-night,"  said  Louie. 

She  remembered  afterwards  that  she  noticed,  out  in 
Oxford  Street  again,  a  sandwichman  bearing  an  illuminated 
board  with  the  announcement  of  some  concert  or  enter- 
tainment upon  it.  Pasted  across  the  device  was  a  strip 
of  paper  with  the  words  "  To  Night  "  upon  it.  The  date 
was  the  sixteenth  of  May.  At  midday  on  the  day  following, 
Louis,  coming  out  of  Mr  Whit  lock's  room,  saw  Jim  advanc- 
ing as  if  to  come  in.  He  saw  her,  stared  hard  at  her  for  a 
moment,  paused  irresolutely,  and  then  turned  abruptly  and 
walked  away  again.  She  watched  his  back,  shaped  like  a 
church-door,  but  bowed  as  if  with  a  load  too  great  for  him, 
disappear  in  the  direction  of  Ms  own  room.  He  had  made 
no  attempt  to  conceal  the  deliberate  avoidance.  She  half 
expected,  though  she  knew  not  why,  that  he  would  send 
for  her  presently.  He  did  not.  She  was  infinitely  glad. 
Something,  she  was  perfectly  sure,  had  happened  between 
him  and  his  wife.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  not  sought 
her  aid.  Had  he,  now  that  it  was  too  late,  told  her  ? 
Had  he  realised  that  it  was  too  late  to  tell  her  ?  Had  he, 
realising  this,  determined  to  take  his  last  risk  and  to  tell  her 
nevertheless  ?  Or  had  something  happened  that  had  at 
last  unsealed  his  eyes  so  that  he  now  saw  with  a  clearness 
as  merciless  as  that  of  Louie  herself  ? 

Louie  could  not  tell.  She  only  saw  his  face  again,  the 
face  of  a  man  suddenly  old  as  he  realised  his  defeat,  and 
his  disappearing  back,  hunched  under  a  burden  that  was 
crushing  him  at  the  last. 


320  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 


"  IF  I  were  you,  Miss  Causton,  I  should  leave  early  to- 
night," said  Mr  Whitlock  that  afternoon. 

Louie  looked  up  inquiringly  from  her  desk. 

"  Oh,  if  you  want  to  make  it  a  matter  of  conscience  ! 
But  Mr  Jeffries  is  giving  a  party  to-night,  and  both  Sir 
Julius  and  I  will  be  leaving  early." 

He  nodded  pleasantly  as  he  dropped  his  hint,  and  left 
her.  Louie  resumed  her  work. 

It  was  a  report  of  phosphate  deposits,  but  it  had  been 
worked  over  before  and  needed  little  attention  ;  or  at  all 
events  it  got  little.  At  five  o'clock  Louie  gathered  the 
sheets  together  and  put  them  into  the  drawer  of  her  table. 
As  she  did  so  some  object  at  the  back  of  the  drawer  knocked. 
She  thrust  in  her  hand.  It  was  the  forgotten  bottle  of 
chloroform. 

"  I'd  better  throw  that  down  the  basin,"  Louie  muttered. 
"  I  think,  Mrs  Jeffries,  that  you  and  Roy  between  you  put 
me  a  little  beside  myself  for  a  day  or  two.  Much  better 
not  to  have  things  like  that  lying  about  ;  to  have  'em's 
sometimes  to  use  'em.  I'll  throw  it  away  now." 

But  as  she  was  rising,  one  of  the  telephone  girls  brought 
her  a  cup  of  tea  and  a  biscuit,  and  she  closed  the  drawer 
again.  The  girl  began  to  talk.  She  was  Ivy  Warner,  the 
operator  who  would  talk  to  her  "  boys  "  over  the  telephone 
if  she  wanted.  Louie,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  always  admired 
the  skill  with  which  she  did  this.  A  yard  away  not  a  word 
would  be  audible,  and  yet  Miss  Warner  would  be  carrying 
on  a  flirtation  in  Brighton  or  Bournemouth  under  the  eye 
of  Mr  Stonor  himself. 

"  Well,  how's  Harold  ?  "  said  Louie,  smiling  over  her 
cup  of  tea. 

"  Oh,  not  at  all  pleased  with  himself  ;  backed  three 


THE   CONSOLIDATION  321 

winners  to-day,  one  at  thirty  to  one,  a  gift ;  like  to  see 
him  ?  He's  coming  up  this  evening,"  Miss  Warner  replied. 
"  I'd  a  chin  with  him  a  quarter  of  an  hour  ago  ;  dinner  at 
seven-thirty,  at  the  Troc  ;  no  steak-and-fried  and  a  small 
dark  lager  when  a  thirty-to-one  creeps  home !  He's 
bringing  a  friend,  too  ;  a  dasher,  Harold  says  ;  he's  almost 
afraid  to  introduce  him  ;  and  Daisy  says  she  really  must 
give  her  steady  a  show  to-night.  Know  anybody  ?  " 

Louie  thought  for  a  moment.  It  was  a  thing  she  had 
never  done  before.  She  gave  Ivy  a  sidelong  look.  Again 
she  had  the  hunger  to  go  somewhere,  to  see  lights,  hear 
music,  smell  the  cigarettes  of  men. 

"  Do  you  care  to  take  me  ?  "  she  said. 

Ivy  was  surprised.     "  You  ?  " 

"Oh,  not  if  I  should  spoil  sport " 

"  Rather  not !  Do  come  !  What  a  lark  !  I'll  get  on 
to  Harold  again  now.  You  really  mean  it  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Good  egg  !  "  cried  Ivy,  glad  to  make  up  her  party  and 
to  improve  her  relations  with  her  business  superior  at  the 
same  time.  "  I  didn't  really  want  Daisy,  you  see.  Of 
course  they  do  talk  loud  at  the  Troc,  but  Daisy's  just  a 
tiny  bit ...  well,  a  perfect  stranger  had  the  cheek  to  come 
up  to  our  table  and  speak  to  her  the  last  time " 

Ivy  ran  jubilantly  off  to  ring  up  Harold  again. 

Louie  told  herself  it  was  a  stupid  thing  to  do ;  she  was 
getting  into  the  habit  of  loitering  about  late  at  night, 
heedless  of  Jimmy.  But  she  had  promised,  and  would  go. 
If  she  didn't  she  would  only  be  mopishly  thinking,  and, 
after  all,  she  would  be  no  more  out  of  place  with  Harold's 
dashing  friend  than  Evie  Jeffries  would  be  in  another  place 
much  about  the  same  time.  Perhaps  the  dasher  for  Evie 
and  Jim's  guests  for  herself  would  have  been  more  fitting, 
but  no  matter.  She  would  be  a  dasher  too.  She  won- 


322  THE    STORY    OF   LOUIE 

dered  how  Ivy  was  describing  her  dashing  self  to  Harold 
over  the  telephone. 

At  seven  o'clock  she  made  herself  ready  and  left  the 
Consolidation  with  Ivy. 

She  retained  no  very  clear  recollection  afterwards  of  the 
gaieties  of  that  evening,  but  the  little  she  did  remember 
arrested  her  a  little.     She  had  a  confused  impression  of  the 
lights  and  tables  and  pilastered  walls  of  the  Trocadero  as 
of  a  bright  beckoning  vista,  stretching  before  her  as  the 
white  road  stretches  before  the  knapsacked  and  stout- 
booted  walker.     She  knew  that  many  girls  went  that  way. 
.  .  .  The  air  was  heavy  with  the  smell  of  coffee,  smoke, 
dishes,   scent ;  Harold's  friend  was  a  Hebrew   "  killer," 
and  reminded  her  of  Miss  Levey ;  noisily  he  claimed  the 
privilege,  which  Harold  noisily  disputed,  of  paying  for 
everything ;  and  the  waiter  contemptuously  accepted  a 
tip  of  a  sovereign  from  him.    Perhaps  he  was  the  same 
cavalier  who  had  resented  Daisy's  loudness ;  at  all  events  he 
appeared  to  find  in  Louie's  quietness  another — or  perhaps 
the  same — meaning ;  and  Louie  had  to  move  her  chair  and 
to  change  her  attitude  at  the  table.    Afterwards  they  went 
to  the  Alhambra  ;  it  was  Ivy  who  cried  out  at  the  sight  of 
two  cabs  and  refused  to  go  unless  they  all  went  together. 
At  the  Alhambra  Louie  was  afraid  she  was  rather  a  wet 
blanket ;    she  declined   to    "  take    a    walk  round "   and 
remained  seated  in  her  stall ;  but  Harold's  friend  was 
fickle  as  well  as  dashing,  for  by-and-by  she  had  a  glimpse 
of  him  with  another  lady,  who  had  not  dined  with  them  at 
the  Trocadero.     She  wondered  how  Evie  Jeffries  had  got 
on — or  "  got  off,"  to  use  an  expression  of  Kitty  Windus's. 
Suddenly — perhaps  it  was  this  thought  of  Evie  elsewhere 
that  did  it — she  got  up,  sought  the  cloakroom,  and  walked 
out  of  the  place.     She  went  home,  once  more  quietly  and 
steadily  thinking  of  that  vista  of  lights  and  cigar  smoke 


THE   CONSOLIDATION  323 

and  laughing  mouths  and  gilded  pilasters — the  way  so 
many  girls  went. 

The  row  she  expected  with  Ivy  in  the  morning  was  not 
a  moment  delayed.  It  began  in  the  lift  in  which  they 
both  happened  to  ascend  together. 

"  Good-morning,"  said  Ivy  stiffly.  "  I  hope  you  got 
home  in  good  time  last  night." 

Louie  waited  until  the  liftman  had  clashed  the  doors  to 
behind  them  ;  then,  "  I'd  a  headache,"  she  said. 

"  Well,  perhaps  it's  better  than  having  one  in  the  morn- 
ing," said  Ivy,  more  icily  still.  "All  the  same,  there  is 
such  a  thing  as  playing  the  game  when  you  go  out  with 
people." 

"  I'm  sorry.  I  oughtn't  to  have  come,"  said  Louie, 
walking  with  the  angry  girl  to  the  telephone  exchange, 
where  the  lights  on  the  great  switchboard  came  and  went 
like  the  sparks  at  the  back  of  a  grate.  They  were  coming 
and  going  with  great  rapidity  that  morning. 

"  Oh,  much  obliged  for  your  company,  I'm  sure,"  Ivy 
broke  out,  "  but— 

"  Sssh  !  "  came  from  a  girl  who  stretched  the  rubber 
worms. 

"  Sssh  yourself,  Daisy  Dawson — time  you  knew  how  to 
speak  into  a  phone  by  this  time  !  "  snapped  Ivy. 

But  another  and  a  louder  "  Sssh  !  "  came  from  another 
girl,  and  suddenly  Mr  Stonor's  head  appeared  in  the  door- 
way. 

"  Quiet  there  !  "  he  rapped  out,  and  withdrew  his  head 


Sssh,  Ivy— haven't  you  heard  ?  "  Daisy  Dawson  said 
softly. 

Ivy's  own  voice  dropped.    "  What  ?  "  she  asked  quickly. 
"  About  Mr  Jeffries." 
"No— what?" 


324  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

Mr  Stonor  came  in  again — but  not  before  Louie  had  heard 
Daisy  whisper  the  word  "  dead." 

Suddenly  she  remembered  the  face  of  the  liftman.  She 
clutched  Mr  Stonor's  arm.  He  looked  at  her.  There  was 
no  need  to  ask. 

Dead! 

Slowly  she  walked  to  her  own  table  behind  the  screen. 

The  place  was  at  once  busier  and  more  hushed  than 
usual.  Presently  Mr  Whitlock  passed.  Mr  Whitlock  was 
thirty-five ;  he  looked  fifty.  Louie  only  asked  him  a 
single  question  :  "  Is  it  in  the  papers  ?  "  He  nodded  and 
passed  on.  She  sought  a  messenger. 

It  was  on  the  right-hand  middle  page.  It  had  happened 
at  one  o'clock  in  the  morning ;  cerebral  haemorrhage. 
That  very  evening  he  had  given  a  dinner-party ;  followed 
a  short  interview  with  Sir  Peregrine  Campbell,  one  of  the 
guests  ;  but  Mr  Robson,  of  the  Board  of  Trade,  had  declined 
to  be  seen.  There  would  be  no  inquest.  Heartfelt 
sympathy  was  extended  to  his  widow.  Half-a-column  of 
"  career  "  closed  the  announcement.  The  early  edition  of 
the  evening  paper  for  which  she  sent  out  had  it  all  over 
again. 

Dead! 

Another  absence  ! 

Slowly  she  turned  the  paper  and  began  at  the  beginning 
again. 

Jim  dead ! 

That  night  Louie  fetched  Jimmy  from  his  cot  into  her 
own  bed.  It  was  not,  she  felt,  for  comfort  for  herself ; 
she  had  a  strange  feeling  that  she  ought  to  be  comforting 
Jimmy.  Jimmy  slept,  but,  her  eyes  alternately  very 
widely  open  and  very  tightly  closed  in  the  dark,  she 
whispered  to  him. 


THE   CONSOLIDATION  325 

"Well,  we've  got  to  look  after  ourselves  now,"  she 
whispered  to  the  sleeping  child.     "  I  don't  think  we  care 
to  go  and  see  him,  do  we  ?    I  daresay  she  wouldn't  refuse 
it,  but  we  won't  go.    That  was  his  wife,  who  said  she'd  a 
little  boy  like  you,  and  of  course  we're  all  very  sorry  for  her. 
She  did  give  him  all  she  had  ;  she  said  she'd  die  for  him  ; 
but  of  course  that's  only  a  way  people  have  of  speaking 
when  they  mean  they  love  somebody  very  much.    Nobody 
wants  her  to  die  for  him  really ;  that  would  only  be  two 
dead  instead  of  one ;  and  she  won't  actually  die.  .  .  . 
And  she'd  a  sad  thing  happen  once  before.    Nobody  ever 
knew  about  that  really  except  me  and  him ;  she  didn't 
know ;  if  she  did  she  might  die  really  then.    People  have 
to  be  careful,  they  say,  when  they've  once  had  a  terrible 
shock.    .It's  rather  funny  though,  Jimmy,  that  mother 
shouldn't  feel  very  much  of  a  shock.    Of  course  I  didn't 
expect  it,  but  as  soon  as  it  happened  it  seemed  as  if  it  had 
been  bound  to  happen.    That's  queer — and  I  don't  know 
that  I  wouldn't  have  preferred  the  shock." 
She  continued  her  curious  consolation  of  the  sleeping  boy  : 
"  Poor  Jimmy — poor  mother  !    He  looked  beaten  yester- 
day— done — but  I  didn't  think.  .  .  .  One  never  does  think 
till  afterwards.  .  .  .  Ah,  but  mother  did,  once,  a  long  time 
ago  !    Mother  danced  with  him  once,  and  knew  then — and 
the  next  time  she  saw  him  Jimmy  was  quite  a  big  boy.    If 
she  could  only  have  seen  him  a  few  times  in  between,  she 
doesn't  know  what  she  could  have  done,  but  she  would 
have  done  something,  and  then  by-and-by  he  would  have 
blessed  her  for  it — she's  sure,  quite  sure  he  would.  .  .  . 
And  there  she  was,  with  some  terrible  people  at  a  music 

hall " 

She  choked  a  little. 

Even  had  it  been  proposed  to  her,  she  did  not  think  she 
would  have  gone  to  see  Jim.    That  was  another  woman's 


326  THE   STOKY   OF   LOUIE 

affair ;  Louie's  part  in  him  had  nothing  to  do  with  what 
remained  now.  Not  that  she  was  so  absurd  as  to  tell 
herself  she  had  lost  nothing  ;  even  when  it  is  only  yours  to 
look  at,  or  perhaps  to  put  your  arms  about  just  once,  a 
body  counts  for  something ;  but  the  other  woman  had  had 
nothing  but  that.  "  Nothing  but "  was  perhaps  a  queer 
way  of  putting  it ;  for  that  "  nothing  but "  Louie  might 
perhaps  have  given  all  the  rest ;  but  all  the  same  it  was  not 
very  much  her  business  now.  Her  business  now,  like  the 
other  woman's,  was  to  jog  on  just  the  same,  the  one  in  her 
empty  mansion,  the  other  one  it  didn't  much  matter 
where.  Again  she  whispered  to  Jimmy. 

"  How  thankful  I  am  that  I  didn't  tell  her — something  ! 
Oh,  I  don't  think  I  could  bear  her  to  die  for  him  as  she  said 
she  would !  And  I  do  hope  he's  not  been  so  foolish  as  to 
— leave  anything  about ;  anything  that  might  tell  her,  I 
mean ;  she  can't  bear  what  I  can  bear.  But  he  wouldn't. 
He  wouldn't  cover  it  all  up  so  cleverly  to  go  and  uncover 
it  himself.  I  always  knew  it  would  happen  if  that  insect 
got  in  his  way ;  Jim  wouldn't  think  twice  about  it,  except 
how  to  make  himself  safe.  .  .  .  Was  it  Kitty  Windus  who 
told  me  that  about  him — about  his  father  having  been  an 
English  merchant  captain  and  his  mother  a  Corsican 
woman  he  found  dancing  in  a  sailors'  cafe  in  Marseilles  ? 
If  it  wasn't  Kitty  I  dreamed  it ;  mother's  done  a  most 
foolish  lot  of  dreaming ;  but  it  must  have  been  Kitty. 
They  say  they  do  that  kind  of  thing  in  Corsica.  I  shall 
never  know.  .  .  .  Well,  it  doesn't  matter.  .  .  .  Poor  little 
Jimmy.  ..." 

She  deliberately  tried  herself,  to  see  whether  she  was 
capable  of  emotion  about  him.  She  seemed  to  be  quite 
incapable.  "  I'm  simply  callous,"  she  thought.  .  .  .  She 
tried  several  days  later,  on  the  day  of  his  funeral ;  the  words 
she  repeated  to  herself  had  no  meaning  for  her ;  "  gone," 


THE   CONSOLIDATION  327 

was  merely  a  thing  of  four  letters,  "  never  "  one  of  five. 
The  word  "  absence  "  she  quite  failed  to  understand.  She 
heard  that  Mrs  Jeffries  was  prostrated,  but  quite  as  well 
as  could  be  expected  in  the  circumstances.  Perhaps  Mrs 
Jeffries  too  was  repeating  the  words  "  gone  "  and  "  never." 
Louie  wondered  whether  she  would  marry  again.  It  would 
not  surprise  her. 

Well,  if  Evie  Jeffries  could  live,  Louie  could  live. 

A  piece  of  news,  however,  which  she  had  from  Billy 
Izzard  one  night — this  was  three  weeks  later,  but  her 
stony  insensibility  had  not  changed — filled  her,  she  could 
not  have  told  why,  with  a  quite  different  disquietude.  It 
appeared  that  Billy  had  felt  himself  permitted  to  call  on 
Mrs  Jeffries,  and  had  found  her  (so  he  told  Louie)  busy 
with  her  husband's  private  papers.  Sir  Julius  also  had 
been  there,  to  advise  if  advice  was  necessary ;  and  Sir 
Julius  had  been  of  opinion  that  the  painful  task  would  be 
more  quickly  over  if  Mrs  Jeffries  would  have  a  number  of 
papers  that  were  written  in  shorthand  transcribed  by  a 
clerk,  if  a  trustworthy  one  could  be  found.  "  In  fact,  he 
mentioned  your  name,"  said  Billy.  But  it  appeared  that 
Mrs  Jeffries  knew  some  shorthand,  had  other  reasons,  and 
so  forth.  She  had  refused  to  have  the  papers  transcribed. 
Naturally  they  had  not  said  much  with  Billy  there,  who, 
indeed,  had  not  stayed  many  minutes ;  but  he  had  gathered 
that  the  papers  formed  some  sort  of  a  journal. 

Louie  felt  her  flesh  grow  queerly  crisp.  This,  by  the 
way,  was  in  a  little  restaurant  not  far  from  the  Palace 
Theatre.  Louie  had  had  three  consecutive  nights  at 
home,  and  felt  that  a  fourth  would  kill  her.  She  and  Billy 
were  going  to  the  Palace  afterwards. 

"  A  journal  ?  "  she  said  slowly. 

"  Well,  Pepper  rather  thought  a  novel  of  some  sort ;  I'd 
a  talk  with  him  afterwards ;  but  I  suppose  he  only  knows 


328  THE    STORY    OF    LOUIE 

what  Mrs  Jeffries  tells  him.  It  wouldn't  surprise  me 
in  the  least  that  poor  old  Jeff  dabbled  a  bit  in  that 
sort  of  thing.  I'm  quite  sure  he'd  have  made  a  painter. 
One  of  the  big  sort  he  was,  the  Titian,  Lionardo,  Cellini 
sort — the  big  men,  who  can  take  an  art  or  so  in  their 
stride." 

"  What  made  Sir  Julius  think  it  might  be  a  novel  ?  " 
Louie  hoped  that  her  new  agitation  did  not  show. 

"  My  dear  girl,  you  know  as  much  about  it  as  I  do." 

"  And  it  was  in  shorthand  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"  Yes." 

"  His  own  ?  " 

"  I'm  sure  I  can't  say.  It  was  in  his  desk  though. 
Why  ?  " 

"  And  you  say  Mrs  Jeffries  is  reading  it  herself  ?  " 

"  Well,  when  Pepper  suggested  you — and  a  Miss  Levey, 
I  remember,  whoever  she  is " 

"  Miriam  Levey  ?     Yes  ?  "  Louie  said,  with  a  jerk. 

Billy  looked  hard  at  her.  "  What's  the  matter  ?  "  he 
said  abruptly.  "  You're  as  queer  as  Mrs  Jeffries  herself 
was  about  it." 

"  She  was  queer  ?    How,  queer  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  How  can  one  describe  things  like 
that — just  impressions  one  gets  ?  " 

"Did  she  strike  you  as  queer  because  she'd  perhaps 
read  some  of  it  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  understand  it  was  private " 

''  You  mean  she  must  have  read  some  of  it  to  find  that 
out  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so." 

Again  Louie  had  that  curious  crawling  of  her  flesh.  She 
hesitated  for  a  moment ;  then,  slowly : 

"What  sort  of  terms  are  you  on  with  Mrs  Jeffries, 
Billy  ?  " 


THE   CONSOLIDATION  329 

Billy  stared.  "Oh,  quite  all  right— I  don't  under- 
stand  " 

"  Have  you  any  influence  over  her  ?  " 

"  What  sort  of  influence  ?  " 

Louie  hesitated  again.  After  all,  it  might  be  only  a  fear. 
She  went  on.  "  Say  influence  enough  to  advise  her  about 
reading  that  journal,  or  novel,  or  whatever  it  is  ?  " 

"Lord,  no!"  said  Billy.  "I  was  his  friend,  hardly 
hers,  you  see." 

"  Well,  if  it  could  be  put  as  a  matter  of  friendship  with 
him  ?  "  Louie  was  speaking  almost  feverishly  now. 

"  I  wish  I  knew  exactly  what  you  meant,"  said  Billy. 

"  Order  me  another  cup  of  coffee.  That's  what  I  can't 
tell  you,  because  I  don't  know  myself.  But  let  me  ask 
another  question.  Do  you  happen  to  know  whether  there 
are  any  real  names  in  this  thing,  whatever  it  is  ?  " 

"Keally,! " 

"  Just  a  moment.  I'll  tell  you  why  I  asked.  If  this  is 
a  journal,  and  has  names  of  people  in  it,  the  chances  are 
mine's  there." 

Billy  was  quick  enough.  He  nodded.  "I  see ;  at 
least  I  think  I  see.  You  mean  about  his  coming  in  that 
night  and  Mrs  Jeffries  possibly  not  liking  it  ?  Well,  to 
tell  the  truth  I  don't  think  she  did  much.  I  could  have 
bitten  my  tongue  out  when  I'd  told  her ;  but  I  suppose 
everybody  doesn't  look  on  these  things  quite  as  we  do. 
You  mean  in  a  word — excuse  me  for  putting  it  rather 
stupidly — that  she's  jealous  and  thinks  she  can  find  out 
the  truth  ?  Supposing  there  was  any  { truth '  to  find  out, 
I  mean  ?  " 

"  That's  the  idea.    Of  course  there  was  no  *  truth.' ' 

"  Well  ?    Why  not  let  her  discover  that  and  make  her 
happy,  poor  thing  ?    You  see,  he  was  her  husband." 
Louie  winced,  but  continued.    "  That's  all  right  as  far 


330  THE    STORY    OF   LOUIE 

as  it  goes ;  but  if  there's  one  name  there  are  probably 
others." 

Billy    looked     sharply     at     her.       "  Other     women  ? 
Jeffries  ?    Don't  you  believe  it !  " 
"  I  didn't  say  women." 
"What  then?" 

"  I  can't  tell  you.  And  perhaps  I'm  altogether  wrong. 
But  if  I'm  not  wrong,  Billy,"  she  said  earnestly,  "  and 
you've  any  interest  in  Mrs  Jeffries  at  all — say  interest 
enough  to  want  to  spare  her  a  shock — she  oughtn't  to  be 
allowed  to  read  that  journal — always  supposing  it  is  a 
journal." 

Billy  gave  a  short  laugh.  "  Keally,  Louie  !  Is  this  the 
Surrey  or  Sadlers  Wells  ?  .  .  .  You're  not  serious,  are  you  ? 
Of  course  it's  bound  to  be  painful  for  her  at  the  best,  but 
she's  getting  on  very  well — better  than  we  could  have 
hoped." 

Louie  made  a  little  despairing  gesture.  "  Well,  I  can't 
tell  you  any  more." 

"  Well,  if  it's  as  important  as  all  that,  why  don't  you 
tell  her  ?  " 

"  I  couldn't  do  that  either.    Look  here,  Billy,  couldn't 
you  find  out  about  this  for  me  ?  " 
"  Oh,  dash  it  all— how  can  I  ?  " 

The  saucer  of  Louie's  coffee  cup  was  full  of  ashes  ;  she 
added  another  butt  and  reached  for  Billy's  case.     She 
looked  Billy  full  in  the  eyes  as  he  struck  a  match  for  her. 
"  Do  you  go  much  to  Iddlesleigh  Gate  ?  " 
"  Well,  just  at  present,  you  see — 

"  I  mean,  could  you  go  ?  Where  does  all  this  take  place  ? 
In  that  library  ?  (Yes,  I've  been  once.)" 

"  Yes.    At  least  that's  where  we  were  that  night." 
Still  Louie  looked  steadily  into  his  eyes.     "Now  this 
really  is  Surrey  and  Sadlers  Wells,"  she  said.     "  Gould  you 


THE   CONSOLIDATION  381 

get  those  papers  out  of  her  way — anyhow — so  that  she 
doesn't  read  them  ?  " 

Billy  twinkled  a  little.  "  It  takes  a  woman  to  do  these 
things,  Louie." 

"  Suppose,  without  asking  any  questions,  if  you  did  I'd 
—marry  Roy  ?  "  After  all,  to  marry  Roy  would  be  no 
worse  than  anything  else  now. 

The  twinkle  disappeared.    Billy  was  grave  again. 

"  I'd  like  you  to  marry  Roy,  Louie." 

"  Well  ...  is  it  a  bet  ?  " 

But  Billy  only  shook  his  head.  This  was  all  very  well 
at  the  Surrey  and  Sadlers  Wells,  but — 

"  It's  a  physical  impossibility,"  he  said.  "  And  if  it 
wasn't,  I  wouldn't." 

"  That's  final  ?  "  said  Louie,  looking  into  his  eyes  for 
the  last  time. 

"  My  dear  girl " 

Louie  rose.  "  All  right.  Then  we  may  as  well  get  across 
to  the  Palace  and  see  Marie  Lloyd." 

Gould  she  have  said  more  ?  She  did  not  see  that  she 
could.  The  chance  loomed  tremendously  large  now  that 
Jim  had  been  fool  enough  to  write  things  after  all,  and 
perhaps  his  wife  was  reading  that  journal,  if  it  was  a 
journal,  even  then 

Louie  could  not  stop  her — no  power  on  earth  could  stop 
her.  What  Jim  had  evidently  not  told  her  during  his  life 
she  would  read  for  herself  now  that  he  had  gone. 

He  would  have  done  better  to  tell  her. 

But  there  :  perhaps  it  was  not  a  journal 


ENVOI 

"  ER — Miss  Causton,"  Sir  Julius  called — "  can  you  stay 
for  an  hour  or  so  ?  No,  a  private  affair ;  I  hope  it's  not 
inconvenient ;  thanks." 

He  was  sickly  white  and  tired-looking ;  Louie's  feet 
dragged,  and  her  brain  was  as  stupid  as  clay.  She  was 
sorry  for  Sir  Julius  ;  Tie  had  had  no  preparation ;  as  for 
Louie,  it  seemed  to  her  now  that  she  had  been  passing 
from  preparation  to  preparation  for  such  things  for  the 
whole  of  her  life.  This  of  the  morning  paper  was  only 
the  latest  of  her  fulfilments.  The  prophets,  she  thought 
dully,  must  have  been  very  weary  men.  .  .  .  But  on  second 
thoughts  perhaps  Sir  Julius  ought  to  have  been  sorry  for 
her.  Even  shock  is  better  than  foreknowledge. 

For  of  course  Sir  Julius  wanted  her  to  stay  in  connection 
with  this  of  Mrs  Jeffries. 

She  had  put  on  her  hat  and  coat  for  departure  ;  as  if 
she  walked  in  her  sleep,  sEe  passed  out  of  Sir  Julius's 
room  and  removed  them  again.  She  bathed  her  face,  but 
felt  little  fresher  ;  then  she  returned. 

It  was  about  Mrs  Jeffries.  It  was  about  them  both. 
Then  Louie  seemed  to  remember  that  Sir  Julius  had  said 
something  about  an  article  on  his  deceased  colleague  for  a 
Review.  She  supposed  that  was  why  he  wanted  her  to 
take  down  his  words  in  shorthand.  Unless  it  was  for  the 
inquest.  Gas-taps  turned  on,  doors  and  windows  sealed, 
and  so  forth  usually  meant  an  inquest ;  and  they  would 
not  have  far  to  look  for  her  motive — suicide  through  natural 
grief.  It  was  only  that  morning,  but  it  seemed  an  old, 
old  story  already. 

332 


ENVOI  333 

'  Tragic  Death  of  a  Lady' "  Sir  Julius  read  out  from  a 
newspaper.  .  .  . 

Well,  he  wouldn't  want  that  part  taken  down ;  indeed, 
if  he  had  only  known  what  Louie  knew,  he  would  not  have 
asked  her  to  take  anything  down  at  all.  But  her  notebook 
was  on  her  knee  and  her  pencil  sharpened,  and  when  Sir 
Julius  had  finished  reading  her  hand  began  to  write,  purely 
functionally,  of  itself.  It  was  no  trouble  to  Louie  what- 
ever ;  nay,  her  hand  was  hardly  called  upon  more  than  her 
mind  ;  the  pencil  itself  did  it.  After  all,  foreseeing  minds 
could  be  put  to  better  uses  than  the  mere  recording  of 
things  after  the  event.  ..."  Sad  business,  sad  business," 
Sir  Julius  was  saying ;  and  "  Sad  business,  sad  business," 
the  obedient  pencil  wrote.  But  Louie  wondered  whether 
it  was  so  sad  after  all.  Evie  Jeffries  had  had  a  sort  of 
foreknowledge  too ;  "  I  could  die  for  him  ;  you  couldn't 
do  more,"  Louie  remembered  she  had  once  said ;  yet  it 
was  doubtful  whether  she  had  died  for  love  of  him  after  all. 
Gall  it  gas-taps,  or  the  shock  of  discovering  that  Jim  had 
been  her  lover's  executioner.  .  .  . 

Still,  she  had  died,  from  whatever  reason,  and  she  had  been 
quite  right  in  saying  that  Louie  could  have  done  no  more. 

It  was  strange  the  way  the  pencil  wrote  of  itself.  "  A 
page  of  notes  in  her  husband's  shorthand  has  been  found 
under  one  of  the  pillars  of  the  writing-table,"  it  wrote,  and 
it  omitted,  as  if  it  had  been  endowed  with  Louie's  own 
intelligence,  Sir  Julius's  interpolated  remark,  "  I've  got 
that  page  of  notes,  by  the  way."  Mr  Whitlock  had 
described  to  Louie  one  day  a  contrivance  called  a  tele- 
writer ;  a  pen  dipped  itself  into  a  bottle  of  ink  and  wrote, 
unassisted,  a  telegraphed  message ;  they  were  new,  and 
they  hadn't  got  them  at  the  Consolidation  yet ;  but  they 
were  putting  them  into  some  of  the  post  offices,  Mr  Whit- 
lock  had  said.  Her  pencil  moved  like  the  pen  of  a  tele- 


334  THE    STORY    OF    LOUIE 

writer.  She  watched  it,  fascinated.  It  was  writing  as 
Sir  Julius  talked,  about  Jim  now. 

"  — lived  an  intense  crowded  life  too.  I  should  say  at  a 
guess  there  weren't  many  things  he  hadn't  done  at  one 
time  and  another,  short  of  a  murder  or  a  matrimonial 
infidelity.  Don't  think  he  could  have  been  tempted  to  do 
that.  One  woman  could  do  anything  she  liked  with  him, 
but  the  others  wouldn't  have  much  chance " 

Very  little  chance,  Louie  thought.  That,  in  a  sense,  had 
been  the  tragedy  of  it  all.  Louie  knew  more  about  that 
than  Sir  Julius ;  Louie  had  once  said,  "  Come,  come ! "  to 
him,  in  tones  that  might  have  brought  angels  from  above 
and  devils  from  below  running  for  love,  but  it  had  not  made 
a  ha'p'orth  of  difference  to  Jim.  Sir  Julius  seemed  to  be 
praising  him  for  it ;  Louie  was  not  sure  that  she  could 
exactly  do  that ;  she  could  almost  as  soon  have  mocked 
him  for  it ;  but  you  neither  mock  nor  praise  a  blind  man 
merely  because  he  is  blind.  It  was  funny  that  Sir  Julius, 
with  not  very  much  to  boast  about  himself,  should  set  up 
an  idol  of  faithfulness ;  and  not  just  for  somebody  else 
to  worship  either ;  that  was  the  funny  part ;  men  did  that 
kind  of  thing ;  sinned,  and  yet  worshipped,  and  called  it 
"  the  maintenance  of  an  ideal."  They  honoured  Joseph, 
and  winked  when  his  back  was  turned.  Perhaps  they 
made  much  of  him  because  of  his  rarity.  Well,  it  was  all 
the  same  to  Potiphar's  wife.  .  .  . 

But  all  at  once  something  seemed  to  have  happened 
to  the  pencil.  It  was  tele-writing  very  furiously.  Sir 
Julius  was  reading  from  another  piece  of  paper ;  Louie 
fancied,  somehow,  that  it  might  be  the  piece  that  had  got 
wafted  under  the  pillar  of  Jim's  desk. 

" — show    him   that   red    thing   on   the  floor   and   that 
curved  thing  on  the  door." 


ENVOI  335 

But  now  Archie  in  his  turn  seemed  to  have  become 
divided.  He  had  turned  suddenly  white.  But  an 
habitual  pertness  still  persisted  in  his  tongue.  I 
don't  think  this  had  any  relation  whatever  to  the 
physical  peril  he  seemed  at  last  to  have  realised 
he  was  in.  I  stood  over  him  huge  and  black  as 
Fate.  ..."  Spare  him  if  you  can,"  that  generous 
bloodthirsty  devil  in  me  muttered  quickly.  .  .  . 

"  Merridew"  I  said  heavily,  "  you'll  disappear  to- 
morrow morning — or 

"  Shall  I  ?  "  he  bragged  falteringly.  .  .  . 

He  seemed  to  have  hanged  him,  then ;  "  that  curved 
thing  on  the  door  "  evidently  meant  a  hook.  That  was 
rather  revolting  ;  these  were  the  things  about  murder  that 
Louie  had  not  wanted  to  know. 

"  Sort  of  grim  tale  he  would  write,"  said  Sir  Julius  to 
the  pencil ;  "  and  of  course — de  mortuis  and  so  on — but  he 
did  marry  the  wrong  woman.  I  suppose  they're  together 
again  now." 

Suddenly  Louie  put  down  her  notebook  and  pencil. 
Her  voice,  too,  as  she  spoke,  seemed  to  her  a  sort  of  tele- 
voice. 

"  Will  you  excuse  me  just  a  moment  ?  "  she  said.  "  I'm 
thirsty." 

She  went  out.  When  she  returned,  three  or  four  minutes 
later,  Sir  Julius  sniffed  once  or  twice  and  asked  her  if  she 
had  a  toothache.  She  took  up  the  pencil  and  notebook 
again.  Sir  Julius  resumed. 

"  What  was  I  saying  ?  Oh  yes,  about  his  marrying  the 
wrong  woman.  .  .  .  But  he  was  a  mass  of  contradictions, 
and  one  of  'em  was  that  he  merely  idealised  her.  Pretty, 
of  course,  but  poor  Jeffries  could  have  done  better  for 
himself  than  that.  She  never  could  bear  me.  ..." 


336  THE    STORY   OF   LOUIE 

Louie  felt  no  difference  yet ;  she  did  not  know  how  long 
these  things  took.  For  a  moment  she  wondered  what 
would  happen  after  .  .  .  and  then  it  struck  her  as  foolish 
to  wonder  about  a  thing  she  would  know  so  soon.  She 
fastened  her  eyes  on  the  pencil  again.  It  went  on  writing, 
and  Louie  was  thinking  of  her  loved  little  Jimmy  now.  .  .  . 
She  could  not  have  done  very  much  for  him  ;  he  might 
even  have  grown  up  to  bear  her  some  sort  of  a  grudge ; 
Roy  would  adopt  him  ;  he  would  be  far,  far  better  with  Roy. 
There  was  a  pony  out  at  grass  for  him  now  ;  he  would  ride 
and  shoot  and  fish,  and  his  father  would  send  him  into  the 
army ;  and  perhaps  there  was  already  a  baby  girl  some- 
where in  the  world  who  would  one  day  be  his  wife — the 
right  wife.  "Was  die  Mutter  traumt,  das  vollbringt  der 
Sohn.  .  .  ." 

It  was  far,  far  better.  .  .  . 

"  Well,"  the  pencil  wrote,  "  there's  nothing  to  be  said 
now,  poor  creatures.  .  .  .  Funny  smell  in  here,  Miss 
Causton ;  I'll  smoke  if  you  don't  mind." 

Sir  Julius  lighted  a  cigar.  Its  penetrating  odour  mingled 
with  that  of  the  sweet,  releasing  stuff. 

Ah  !  It  was  coming  !  The  pencil  wrote  no  less  quickly, 
but  it  looked  a  little  smaller  and  farther  away. 

"  But  sometimes  it  made  me  almost  angry  that  he  hadn't 
married  the  woman  he  ought.  .  .  ." 

Louie  felt  her  head  sinking.  .  .  .  Yes,  the  woman  he 
ought.  .  .  . 

That  had  been  the  real  fatality.  .  .  . 

Her  lids  dropped  for  a  moment,  and  then  heavily  lifted 
again ;  but  she  could  still  see  t&9  pencil — mistily — 
dreamily — as  if  endued  with  a  life  not  her  own — flying  on. 

THE    END 


THE   RIVERSIDE   PRESS   LIMITED,   EDINBURGH 


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